The Other Sister
by sweetgirl8353
Summary: She could hear it in the trees and feel it in the wind. A change was coming. A battle would rage, a land would become free and a king would rise from the ashes. This is the tale of King Arthur told from the woman who loved him. REWRITE!
1. Chapter 1

The Other Sister

**A/N: So I recently just watched **_**King Arthur **_**again and decided to go back and take a look at my earlier fanfic. Needless to say I was a bit disappointed with how I chose to go about things (I pretty much just made my character (Olwyn) Guinevere with a different name and just followed the script the whole way through without trying to flesh out the plot or add to it in anyway). **

**So I am going to take another crack at this story and see if I can't make it a bit more original. Also I am going to write it out in 3****rd**** person instead of 1****st****. I feel that I can do more with the story if it is in 3****rd**** person. So I hope you all enjoy it. Read and Review! **

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_Who would be free themselves must strike the blow. Better even to die free than to live slaves. – Frederick Douglass _

In the predawn of the morning a silence laid upon the land. The transparent mist danced and wove itself across the hills and cliffs. The grass stretched itself up to the lightening sky and swayed in the whispering breeze that spoke of days of old. The days when freedom was a reality and not a bitter memory or a hopeful thought. No animal or human stirred as night transformed into a glorious day.

Past the rolling hills and crevices a forest stood sturdy and strong. It had stood there since the dawning of the world. The top of its treetops disappeared into the clouds and the trees trunks were as thick as five able men. The trees stood proudly in the pre-morning blaze; they had seen many events in their long lives. They had witnessed happiness and love and had gazed upon the horrors of hatred and war. They had stayed firm and strong when enemies had wished to cut them down. They were an ancient forest that would live upon the land forever and not be hacked away at by the greed of man.

It was in this forest that a single soul stirred. Dashing past trees with the quickness of a nymph a young woman raced. Her feet didn't make a sound as she gracefully treaded over the dew laden ground and she left no marking or trail behind her. The simple green dress she wore whirled at her ankles revealing her leather sandals while her long blonde hair whipped behind her.

No sound shattered the silence of the peace that resided in the heart of the forest. The only sound that could be heard was the beating of the girl's heart as it thundered within her chest. She agilely leapt over a fallen log and never stumbled as she continued to run. She was guided by the wind that pushed her ever forward as it swooped past her.

It would not be too much longer…

The trees that surrounded her began to thin as the land rolled upward and left the flatness of the forest behind. The girl gathered her skirts up in her hands and sprinted up the rocky hill as her feet slapped the dark earth beneath her feet. Finally, she came to her desired destination.

She stood at the crest of a dune that overlooked miles of beautiful terrain that was her homeland. Her cheeks were mightily flushed and she struggled for breath, but that didn't matter to her as she turned her head eastward. She had made it in time to witness the sunrise. The sky that had only been ebony minutes before was now a lit with gentle pinks and purples and oranges. The girl looked to east to the far off sea and gazed as the golden sun made its ascent into the sky.

Beams of light fell upon the frost covered ground as the fog retreated into the shadows to outrun the sun's warmth. The rays of the sunshine hit her fully as she placed her arms out before her and closed her eyes to allow the warmth of the rays to seep into her bones so that it would keep her warm in cold places. She did not know how long she stood there before she opened her bright blue eyes.

She was Olwyn. She was the second child of Merlin. And more importantly she was a Woad. She belonged to a tribe of people that had inhabited the island of Briton since before any of them could remember. It was said that her people had lived off the land since the forest had been young and mystical; in a time of true magic. But no one truly knew how long that the Woads had called Briton their home.

Olwyn sighed as a soft breeze caressed her pale cheek. She wrapped her arms around herself as her head tilted to the south where Hadrian's Wall lay out of sight. A quiver of inexpressible feeling surged through her body as she thought of the Romans who had enslaved her homeland so many years before. She had lived all her life as a slave to the Roman world that ruled south of the great wall. It was only by fear and superstition that stopped the Romans from traveling past the wall and into her world.

Olwyn shook her head to shake away those dreadful thoughts that had been clouding her mind for the last several days. She needn't no longer fear the Romans. It had been whispered in the trees that the Romans were leaving the island they had claimed centuries ago to return to Rome. Soon Olwyn would no longer be a slave. Soon the Woads wouldn't have to hide in the shadows and the forests in wait of freedom. Soon her people's dreams would be a tangible reality.

The thought of freedom caused a broad grin to spread across her face as goose pimples sprouted up her arms at the mere thought of absolute freedom. Olwyn's grin stayed with her as she turned on her heel and began the trek down the hill and back into the forest. She walked with a purpose as her arms stayed crossed her against her chest.

With the sunrise the forest seemed to have come alive. Creatures of all sorts were ambling through the woods as shattered beams of light filtered through the thick leaves above them. Olwyn walked as many thoughts filled her head and she became unaware of herself. It was not till she heard a twig snapped that she realized her vulnerable position out in the open. She froze as her eyes darted to the trees stretched out around her.

If she had only been paying attention she would have realized that she was being closely watched. Taking slow and deliberate steps she hid herself behind a tree and pressed herself against the rough bark. She reached into her dress and pulled out an old dagger that had served her well in the past.

A swoosh of air past her ear and then a thud as an arrow embedded itself into the bark of the tree only inches above her head. Olwyn looked up at the arrow and recognized it as Woad design. Thee earlier fear faded as annoyance took over as she sheathed her dagger.

"Think you're so clever, don't you?" she muttered aloud as she stepped out from her hiding spot.

"You might as well come out now…_sister_." Light, almost silent footsteps came bounding up behind Olwyn as she inwardly sighed and allowed the inevitable to happen. A moment later a thin body crashed into her as the two ended up on the forest floor. Olwyn gave a groan as musical laughter erupted next to her. Olwyn turned onto her side and gazed at her younger sister Guinevere.

Guinevere was the radiant sun to Olwyn's shimmering moon. She was a lion with the appearance of a lamb. She was a beautiful young woman with a stout heart and a determined mind. Her tangled brown hair curled around her face as brown eyes lit up with delight to see her elder sister. Olwyn had been her caretaker since their mother's death years ago when the two had only been children. The two loved each other fiercely and were each other's protectors.

"What are you doing out here Guinevere?" Olwyn asked as she sat up and brushed grass off of herself. Guinevere jumped up and offered Olwyn her hand as she pulled her older sister to her feet.

"I was looking for you," Guinevere explained as the two began walking back to their tribe. "You were not in your bed when I woke up."

Olwyn looked down at her feet as she crossed her arms over her chest once more. "I was looking at the sunrise." she said quietly as Guinevere glanced at Olwyn. Though she had only walked the earth for eighteen years she was an insightful human who could read others easily.

"You were thinking of Daearen, were you not?" she softly asked as a small smile flickered across Olwyn's face. Yes, Daearen had entered her mind as she had witnessed the sunrise. His presence in her mind was as firm and strong as he had once stood before her.

"Olwyn," Guinevere began as her sister looked at her, "It has been weeks since his disappearance over the wall. You must accept the fact that he is not returning."

"I know," Olwyn said as Guinevere raised an eyebrow. "It's just going to take time I guess to realize that he is dead."

Guinevere reached out and lightly touched Olwyn's arm as they stopped and turned towards each other.

"You know that I am here for you whenever you need me?" Guinevere reminded Olwyn as she chuckled and nodded.

"Yes, I know. And I want you to remember one thing, sister dearest."

"What's that?" Guinevere asked as their home came into view. Olwyn smiled as she nudged her shoulder into Guinevere's.

"That I am the _older _sister." she continued walking and ignored the bark of laughter that rose from Guinevere's lips as the two walked into camp. Though only a half hour past sunrise the Woad campsite was bustling with activity. Children were gleefully running around the camp as their joyful laughter filled the air. Brightly dressed women went about their business as they lugged children on their hips. Men were sharpening their tools and preparing for hunting as the Woads had started gathering food for the upcoming winter.

Guinevere and Olwyn smiled and greeted their fellow kinsmen as they walked through the camp. Olwyn's grin grew as she saw a large group of children eagerly sitting before a Woad elder named Aderyn. As she and Guinevere walked past the enthralled group Olwyn heard only a snippet of Aderyn's story.

"…and then he pulled the sword from the grave…"

She did not have to hear another word to know who Aderyn spoke of. He spoke of the great Roman commander who lived across the wall that split Briton into two different worlds. The Roman commander's name was always spoken with begrudging respect and reluctant awe. The Woads feared and hated him, but yet they also saw him as an important figure shrouded in mystery.

He was Artorius Castus.

Olwyn's mind once again became filled with thoughts of the legend and the man that was Arthur of the Romans. When she had only been a lass her father had told her and Guinevere great tales of Arthur and his Knights. Olwyn had hung off every rich word her father had told her.

Guinevere too had heard Aderyn's words and had narrowed her brown eyes. "Why does he speak of that Roman as if here were a god?" she sneered to Olwyn as Olwyn glanced at her younger sister.

"To many of us he is. You know that many of our tribesmen think he can do anything; that he is invincible."

Guinevere harshly snorted as she shook her head and her curls went flying. She clenched her fists as her voice lowered and became crisp and cold.

"Why do so many love and fear him? He is a traitor to his own kind; a Briton who has turned his back on his country."

Guinevere's words were true. Arthur was half Briton and had lived his whole life on the Island of Briton. Yet, he had long ago pledged his allegiance to Rome and had served them for fifteen years by killing anyone who defied the Roman Empire. Many a Woad had died at the end of Arthur's mighty sword Excalibur.

"Let's not speak of this any longer," Olwyn advised to her sister. She could clearly see that Guinevere was beginning to get worked up. An upset Guinevere was never fun to put up with.

"In a few weeks the Romans and Arthur Castus shall be gone from these lands and we will no longer have to fear _or _admire them."

"How are you always so wise, Olwyn?" Guinevere asked with a smile as Olwyn laughed and shrugged.

"When one has you for a sister, one must always be levelheaded." she retorted as the two sisters shared laughter. They continued walking past the crude dwellings and further into the trees as they saw a familiar figure in this distance. It was Eirian, the eldest child of Merlin and his only son. Merlin's daughters began walking to their older brother who seemed trouble.

He was a tall, strong man who strongly resembled their father. His hair was the same shade as Guinevere's, but he shared Olwyn's blue eyes. Guinevere had taken after their father, Olwyn after their mother and Eirian was a brilliant mix of the two. Eirian had become an able warrior and Merlin's second in command over their tribesmen.

Eirian stood with his back to Olwyn and Guinevere. His shoulders were tense and his stance was taunt and rigid. Olwyn and Guinevere exchanged worried glances as they came up to Eirian.

"What troubles you brother?" Olwyn asked as Guinevere placed a hand upon her brother's shoulder. He turned to them with dark eyes.

"Father is speaking with the elders." Though he said nothing else they could hear the silent message in his words. Without another thought Guinevere stalked silently forward as both Eirian and Olwyn inwardly groaned. They came upon the hut where Merlin often held his council. Noiselessly the three children of Merlin crept up to the side up the hut as they split up and stood in various places. They pressed their ears to the mud-like foundation and concentrated on the muffled voices from within that seemed to be arguing.

"We must defend ourselves against those Roman wretches!"

"Why should we risk ourselves now when the Romans are leaving?"

"They will never truly be gone, unless they are killed off!"

"I have heard from a reliable source that an important Roman bishop will be traveling to the wall within the next few weeks. We should strike then."

"Attack a Roman bishop?! The Romans would have our heads."

"Silence." Merlin's deep and wryly voice spoke strongly around the room as his councilmen all quieted. Olwyn's own heart fluttered at hearing her father's voice. He had a commanding aurora that caused all who met him to deeply respect him. Merlin's children leaned further into the hut as Merlin began to speak.

"We have a more pressing matter at the moment than Roman bishops I am afraid, my friends. Yes, it is true that the Romans are pulling out of Briton to return to their own empire-"

"And we will have our freedom!" A man enthusiastically exclaimed as cheers and howls followed his statement. Guinevere, Olwyn and Eirian exchanged matching grins as silence once more fell upon the hut.

"But with their departure a new evil will arrive upon our shores. I have foreseen a greater and worse enemy coming to our homelands."

A tense silence fell upon the hut as Guinevere looked to Olwyn. Olwyn could only shrug and lean in further to hear her father's voice.

"At this very moment a great campaign of Saxons are sailing across the sea to our lands. If we do not take a stand against them when they arrive then I fear for the survival of our race."

"But Merlin, how can we every hope to fight the Saxons? They destroy everything they touch."

"At least the Romans are civil, the Saxons are barbarians!" Another councilman interjected as he received grunts of agreement. Merlin bleakly chuckled.

"My friend, the Romans would say the same of us."

"Merlin, what are we to do? We cannot defend ourselves against the Romans _and _the Saxons. Our numbers are already stretched thin."

Impossibly Merlin's children still attempted to lean in further to hear their father speak. Olwyn closed her eyes and could almost see her father scratching his mangled beard as he contemplated his next move.

"The stars shall be quite abundant tonight," Merlin began solemnly, "I shall consult them and we shall continue this pressing discussing tomorrow."

Eirian, Olwyn and Guinevere bolted from the hut before they could be caught by any of the departing councilmen. It would not reflect well on Merlin if all three of his grown children were caught eavesdropping like three petulant children. The three children of Merlin walked through the woods as each thought over their father's words.

"I cannot believe this." Olwyn was the first to speak as she brought a hand to her forehead in an attempt to stop the headache that was beginning to build.

"We must go to war with the Saxons, it is the only way." Eirian said grimly as Olwyn glanced at him.

"And be slaughtered like animals?" she asked as he glared at her.

"If we do not fight they will kill us anyway…or worse, make us their slaves."

Guinevere's head snapped up and a brilliant fire was ablaze in her eyes. She looked between her two older siblings as she stepped forward and passionately exclaimed, "I will be no man's slave! I will die free, before I ever submit myself to an eternity of bondage."

She turned on her heel and quickly strode into the trees as Eirian and Olwyn watched her go with heavy hearts. Olwyn sighed and resigned herself to go after her sister, but Eirian stopped her by grabbing her wrist.

"I shall go after her." he released Olwyn and pursued Guinevere into the forest as Olwyn watched till he disappeared from her eye of sight. She now stood alone in the early morning chill as she wrapped her arms around herself. She did not know how long she stood there before she felt a comforting presence behind her.

"Olwyn," Merlin greeted his oldest daughter as she turned to face her father. She weakly smiled at him as his dark eyes bore into her own light ones.

"Walk with me," he told her as he began walking in the opposite direction of where Guinevere and Eirian had run off to. Olwyn walked quietly beside her father as her mind swam with so many conflicting thoughts. They walked for a long time without saying anything before Merlin remarked,

"I had forgotten you and your sibling's talent for eavesdropping on conversations that are not meant for your ears."

Olwyn looked up startled and was glad when she saw no anger in her father's eyes. She still blushed and looked down at her hands and she began twiddling with her thumbs.

"Is it true?" she asked a moment later as she and Merlin came to a clearing within the forest.

"Is what true, daughter?"

"That the Saxons are coming." Olwyn exclaimed as she looked fully into her father's eyes. He stared back a moment before slowly nodding. Olwyn's shoulders sagged. She had known the truth, but having her father confirm it only made it a thousand times more real.

"The Saxons ruin everything they touch, you know that father."

"I do." Merlin agreed as Olwyn sighed and hugged herself again.

"Will we fight them?" Olwyn asked as Merlin raised his eyes up to the sky.

"Perhaps," he spoke delicately as Olwyn bitterly snorted and remembered her conversation with her sibling's only minutes before.

"Guinevere is already preparing for battle, as is Eirian."

A fond smile came upon Merlin's aged face as he thought of his youngest child. Guinevere was a spitfire that always said what she believed and never apologized for it. She was clever and a true vixen. Merlin's smile only grew as he looked down at Olwyn. She was a spitting image of her dead mother. She was wise and strong spirited, but with a tame and gentle disposition. But even she would go to war for what she longed for, freedom.

"Some burn white hot with the intensity of their emotions," Merlin remarked as he described his youngest child. Olwyn raised her eyes to intently watch her father. "And others merely simmer with their deepest feelings, but that does not mean that they are not as worthy as the other.

"Olwyn, you are wise beyond your 21 years. You do not jump headfirst into conflict as does Guinevere. You do not let your emotions control your judgment. But for the things you believe in you have the courage of a great bear."

Olwyn smiled towards her father as a gentle breeze blew in from the west. It wrapped itself around Olwyn as she closed her eyes and turned her head up to the sky. Merlin gazed upon his eldest daughter who shared his love of nature. He was connected to this land. His blood was rooted in the earth. The trees spoke to him and the wind carried him news. He belonged to this land.

That same gift had been passed down to Olwyn. He knew that most mornings she crept into the forest to watch the sunrise. As a girl he had often found her sitting high in trees and gazing at the clouds. She had loved to frolic through the grasses and danced up and down the hills. Even now she belonged to this land as he and his tribesmen did.

"What does the wind tell you, daughter?" he asked as she kept her eyes closed and gently swayed in the breeze. It caressed her cheeks and flowed through outstretched fingertips.

"A change is coming," she whispered softly as Merlin gazed at her. "Like the ever changing tides a new era is upon the land. An era unlike anything it's ever seen before."

She opened her eyes suddenly as she turned to her father.

"What is it?" he gently asked her as she blinked and looked to the trees.

"The land is whispering a name." she confided to him as he only watched her gravely.

"And what name would that be?"

Olwyn could easily hear the name whispered into her ear as she shuddered in the breeze. She looked once more around her, but she knew that the land would not lie to her.

"Arthur."

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	2. Chapter 2

The Other Sister

Life went on in the village of the Woads, though an air of dread seemed to hang over the countryside. Everyone could feel in it in the trees and in the wind. The Saxons were coming closer and closer to the shores of their home. And due to the Romans imminent departure the Woads were growing bolder in their attacks against the Roman. More and more often bands of warriors were heading south of the wall, and less and less men were returning. It was said that Arthur and his Knights were decimating the Woads in their brawls against one another.

The Woads were fearless fighters, who never backed down from a challenge. But they were fighting against battle weary men who have spent their whole lives fighting to survive. The Romans breathed and lived war; they were always prepared for battle. Also, it is hard for leather and arrows to compete against armor and steel. And no Woad stood a chance against Arthur and his sword Excalibur.

The feeling of dread had spread to the camp. The men, young and old, were preparing for battle. The women had grown nervous and were tittering about with the fear that they may never see their loved ones again. Even the small children could sense that something was wrong in their world. It was almost as if the world that the Woads knew was ending and something was coming in its place. Whether it be good or bad was still to be seen.

Olwyn and Guinevere had not discussed the feeling of dread that they both felt. Guinevere was as stubborn as ever that the Woads were be victorious over all their enemies, whether it be Romans or Saxons.

"And what of this change over the land, hmm?" Olwyn had asked of her sister. Guinevere had only looked around the bleak landscaped and shrugged.

"It is growing colder; winter is coming. That's all." she had stated and the conversation had been dropped. Olwyn knew that there was no reasoning with her sister. She could be rather thickheaded at times. But Guinevere had been right. It was growing colder.

Olwyn could feel the slight bite of winter as she sat now in the home of Heulfryn. Heulfryn's fire was burning low and was only embers at this point. It allowed the chill of late fall to sweep into the roundhouse as Olwyn sat on the hard ground shivering. Heulfryn was the oldest woman in the village of Woads. She had lived through many moons and had seen many things in her numerous years upon the earth. She had lived through the numerous civil wars that sprouted up against rival tribes. She had witnessed the sweating sickness that had swept through the land when Olwyn had only been a child; the disease had wiped out nearly all of the Woads, even Olwyn's mother.

Heulfryn had long ago been the protégé of a druid, who had taught her everything he knew. Heulfryn had carried that knowledge with her and had used it to tend to the sick and injured in the village. Whenever anyone needed her, she was there for him. But she was growing older and now she was passing her wisdom down to the next generation…to Olwyn.

She had chosen Olwyn out of all the women of the village and for the past several months had been thoroughly training her in the art of healing. She had Olwyn memorizing plants and their healing abilities. She had her learning to set bones when they were broken. She had forced Olwyn to learn the anatomies of several different animals and to know what to do with them for battling diseases.

She had taught Olwyn a lot, but there was still more to learn. And Heulfryn did not know when Olwyn would be ready to step into her role as a healer. She was a keen learner and was not affected by squeamish things such as blood, but she lacked passion for it. Perhaps she was too young to care of these things, but she needed to know them if she was to be a healer. Heulfryn secretly feared that she would not live much longer. Olwyn needed to know as much as possible.

So this is why Olwyn was sitting in her home on a chilly fall day with the sky dark and grey. Heulfryn had called her for another lesson. Olwyn was sitting hunched on the floor and had sadly allowed her mind to wander as she thought of the Saxon's arrival.

"…are you listening, child?" Heulfryn asked sharply as Olwyn broke free of her daydream. She shook her head and looked apologetically at the old woman. Heulfryn was short and stooped over with the burden of age. Her hands were knarred and her skin rough with weather and wrinkles. The only thing striking about her appearance was her luminous grey eyes. They bore into one's soul and saw all their secrets hidden in their hearts. One could never look in Heulfryn's eyes for too long without feeling uncomfortable.

That's how Olwyn felt now as she wiggled in her spot. She scratched her head and looked away as Heulfryn began muttering under her breath.

"I'm sorry," Olwyn said earnestly, for she did find the art of healing interesting.

"My mind just wandered, please go on."

Heulfryn snorted and waddled around the hut. "Why should I teach you if you do not listen, eh? What I am telling you is of the greatest importance; the survival of our people may very well depend on it."

"I know-"

"Do you? Then why don't you listen? You're almost as bad as your sister." Heulfryn muttered and Olwyn bit back a smile.

"I am trying-"

"Trying? Ha! I've seen children try harder than you. I only have bestowed my knowledge upon you because you are your mother's child. She was brilliant when it came to healing. She was precise and flawless. You could ask her anything and by praise she knew the answer. She had talent, your mother. And gods willing she passed some of it on to you."

Olwyn looked down at the mention of her late mother and warmed up her arms against the chill. Heulfryn saw this and sighed, her hard expression softening.

"Oh, don't listen to me," she remarked as Olwyn glanced up, "I'm old and senile. You have potential, you do, you just need to embrace it within yourself." Heulfryn turned her back to Olwyn and began rotting through some pots. She finally found what she was looking for and grabbed a handful of it; it was black powder. Without much thought she threw it over the dying fire and it erupted back to life.

Olwyn sat back in astonishment as the roundhouse suddenly filled with light and heat.

"Magic!" she declared suddenly staring at the fire in awe as Heulfryn chuckled heartily.

"No, just an old secret; I may yet teach it to you." Heulfryn peeked outside her door and saw that it was mid-afternoon. She had now kept the young Woad for more than five hours; it was no wonder her mind had wandered. Heulfryn clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she pulled a small wool pouch from her bosom. She tossed it daintily to Olwyn as it landed in her lap.

"What's this?" Olwyn asked in surprised as she held the pouch in her hands.

"It's a variety of different species of flowers. You are to examine them and tomorrow are expected to name them off and their healing properties to me got it?"

Olwyn nodded as Heulfryn allowed herself a small smile.

"Now get!"

Olwyn didn't need to be told twice. She hurriedly left Heulfryn's roundhouse and breathed in the air the moment she was free. She hurried through the village and was glad no one took notice of her. All she wanted to do was to disappear into the trees. She swung by her own home and eagerly picked up her bow that her father had made for her for her eighteenth birthday. She swung her satchel of arrows over her shoulder and hastily retreated into the woods surrounding her home.

She wandered to her favorite spot, a small clearing, and took aim at the nearest tree. She shot straight and true. She stood in complete silence with only the forest as her companion. She enjoyed the feeling of the arrows in her hand and the way the string of her bow went taunt at her touch. She pulled back, held her breath and released. The arrow went whizzing through the air before landing perfectly in the center of the bark of her target. Olwyn flexed her arm and allowed a self-indulgent grin come across her pale face.

How peaceful the world seemed…

"There you are sister," a decidedly sweet voice said from behind as Olwyn sighed. There went her peace and quiet. She turned to see Guinevere standing behind her with a sly grin upon her face.

"What do you want?" Olwyn asked before letting another arrow fly into the tree. Guinevere threw back her head and laughed while Olwyn rolled her eyes. When Guinevere was this happy, something had to be amiss.

"How was Heulfryn?" Guinevere asked, coming up alongside Olwyn to watch her sister's progress with her bow.

"Fine," Olwyn answered shortly. She loved her sister's company, but not when she had a bow in her hands. She needed to focus solely on her weapon and she couldn't do that with Guinevere breathing in her ear.

"She make you do something ridiculous again?"

"You know, I do enjoy my time with her." Olwyn answered as Guinevere smirked. Olwyn couldn't help it, she smiled back.

"So, dearest sister, why are you here? It's not to watch my impressive archery skills." Olwyn stated as she lowered her bow and turned fully to her younger sister. Guinevere smiled again and magically produced two blades from her skirt.

"Spar with me," she spoke as Olwyn sighed.

"Remember the last time I dueled you? You dislocated my shoulder. I feel no need to go through such misery again." Olwyn replied as she raised her bow again, but Guinevere shot forward and lowered the weapon.

"It won't happen again, I swear. Besides, are you scared I'll beat you?" Guinevere asked haughtily as Olwyn tensed. She hated being baited by her sister, but she fell for it every time.

"As if you could," Olwyn spat back as the feeling of sibling rivalry began to grow. If there was one thing she hated in this world, it was Guinevere being better at something than her. She _was _the older sister, after all. It was her right to be the best at everything.

Guinevere's smile grew knowing she was getting her sister right where she wanted her. "Are you sure about that, dearest? We all know the blade is my forte."

It was true. Guinevere excelled with swordplay and archery was Olwyn's domain. But that didn't stop Olwyn from trying to beat her sister at every turn. Olwyn dropped her bow to the forest floor and grabbed the sword that Guinevere was holding in her hand.

"You're on, little sister."

The two daughters of Merlin shared smirks as the retreated to opposite corners before their sparring could begin. Olwyn swung the blade lazily in her hands as she familiarized herself with her weapon. She got used to the weight of it and how it moved with her body. Guinevere stood in her corner holding her own sword as she expertly swung it about, picturing the look of defeat on Olwyn's face.

When the two were ready the faced one another and waited for the first move. Guinevere did not disappoint. She darted forward like a deer and if she had been a little bit faster she would have taken Olwyn by surprised. But Olwyn had raised her sword just in time to block Guinevere's quick parry. Olwyn danced back and waited for Guinevere to strike again. Again she did not disappoint.

It went this way for several minutes; Guinevere striking and Olwyn darting back. This was maddening for Guinevere who just wanted Olwyn to stand still and take it like a man.

"Fight back!" she snarled at her older sister as Olwyn's grin grew. Guinevere was growing frustrated. To please her sister Olwyn charged the next time and the clang of metal rang out as their swords met in combat. Olwyn went for her sister's feet but Guinevere, quick as ever, jumped and avoided the blade. The two darted to and fro fighting and then dancing away from the other. Though the air was tense with competition, a light heartedness clung to them and the two found themselves at times laughing like they had when they were girls. Finally Guinevere gained the upper hand and had Olwyn at her mercy.

"Alright, alright," Olwyn conceded, "you win…this time."

The two collapsed upon the grass as both tried to catch their breaths. Though it was a cold day the heat of battle had warmed the two and they were left wiping the sweat from their brows.

"You're getting better," Guinevere complimented, "you almost had me with the swing of yours; would have taken off my head if I hadn't ducked."

"If only." Olwyn jokingly mused only to be roughly punched in the shoulder by her sister. The two broke out into loud laughter. After several long moments the two quieted and gazed up at the grey sky.

"To think," Olwyn began softly, "we may never laugh like this again."

Guinevere glanced questioningly at her solemn sister and asked, "Why would you say that?"

Olwyn sighed and continued looking up at the sky as she twiddled with her thumbs. She looked away from the sky to look into Guinevere's dark brown eyes.

"The Saxons are coming."

The reaction was immediate in her sister. The playfulness of Guinevere's features dissolved and left in its place was a hard look that could have been carved out of stone. She sat up, her back rigid and her whole body as tense as a bent bowstring. Olwyn sat as well and watched her sister carefully.

"What does it matter if the Saxons are coming? We shall beat them just as we have every other enemy."

"And if we don't?" Olwyn asked only to have Guinevere turn to her with anger in her eyes.

"Don't even speak things like that!" she hissed, "We shall win…we must."

The conversation ended abruptly when a scream shattered the silence that engulfed them. Guinevere and Olwyn only glanced at one another before galvanizing into action. Guinevere went darting into the forest to the source of the screaming. Olwyn followed at her feet after she had picked up her bow and roughly slung it over her shoulder.

The two women raced further and further through the woods as they got farther and farther away from the boundaries of their home. The forest thinned around them and they suddenly could see ahead. In a clearing a wooden wagon rested. Manning the wagon were several armored men in the guise of Romans. They were roughly ushering a young woman and a boy into the wagon by force.

"Let us go!" the girl wailed as she was held tightly by two men. The boy was easily overtaken and was thrown into the closed wagon crying.

"Lucan! Let him go, you bastards!" the girl sobbed only to be harshly slapped by one of the men.

"Shut up you wench!" he hollered into her ear and slapped her again. The sound of skin on skin contact echoed around and caused both Guinevere and Olwyn to flinch from their hiding spots behind trees. The contact of the blow caused the girl to go limp in the men's arms as they ungracefully shoved her into the wagon.

"We can't let them get away with this!" Guinevere hissed to Olwyn as Olwyn nodded in agreement. But there were four men and they looked big and strong. Fear settled in her stomach, but she roughly pushed it aside as she slowly reached for an arrow. She aimed her weapon at the nearest Roman and with baited breath let the arrow fly.

It landed in his heart. His body jerked in surprise and he stared down at the arrow in surprise. He let loose from his mouth an awful gurgling noise as blood poured out. He only stood for a moment longer before falling back, lying stone still and staining the ground crimson.

The men jumped immediately to action as they unsheathed their swords and their eyes darting around the enclosure they stood in. Their strenuous years of training came to them as they listened for just the slightest noise of occurrence to give away their enemy. Olwyn and Guinevere stayed rooted to their spots. They shared a glance and Guinevere nodded.

Olwyn released another arrow, but this time the men were expecting it. The arrow only skimmed a man's arm, but worse, it gave away Olwyn and Guinevere's positions.

"Separate!" Olwyn hissed to her sister as the men charged forward. Guinevere went left and Olwyn ran right. It didn't matter if they made noise or not, for the men had now seen them. Olwyn glanced over her shoulder and saw two of the brutes trailing her, leaving one to follow Guinevere. This was good. Guinevere could take on one man easily. And if the worse came, she could escape from this mess the two had suddenly found themselves in.

Olwyn hid herself behind a tree and knew that a bow and arrow wouldn't protect her now. She threw them down and unsheathed the dagger that she always kept with her. Daggers couldn't protect against swords, but maybe it would be able to save her.

"Where's the bitch?" one of the men growled as they came nearer to her hiding spot. Olwyn held her breath and when she knew one was right on top of her she ducked out from behind the tree and drove the dagger into his ribcage.

Sadly for her his armor deflected most of her blow. He struck out and his fist connected with her chin. The crack of the blow resounded and Olwyn went sprawling to the forest floor. The world spun madly around her as she rolled onto her stomach to try and get her bearings. She valiantly tried to scramble away from the two men, but one caught onto her ankle.

"Where you think you're going?" he growling as he began pulling her forcefully to him. Olwyn struggled and with good precision aimed a kick at his chin. He fell back and she stood and ran. She did not get far when two beefy arms wrapped around her middle and lifted her squarely off the ground.

"Got a little fight in you, eh?" one of the men breathed hotly into her ear as she doubled her efforts to break free, "I like that in a whore."

She cried out as he punched her in the stomach; suddenly winding her. She could only protest weakly as the two men carried her back to the wagon.

* * *

Guinevere wasn't one for running. She was a warrior and she never backed down from a challenge. She had only run for a short distance before halting and turning to face her opponent head on. He was a large, dumb looking brute if she ever saw one. He stepped up to her with a leer on his face as he took in her pale skin and willowy body.

He licked his lips and Guinevere wanted to punch the living daylights out of him. But she held her ground and didn't attack. It was always best to strike when it was most unexpected. The man rubbed his hands together and smiled, revealing a mouth of rotten teeth.

"Play nice and come with me, dearie, you know you can't beat me."

Guinevere pretended to think over it for a moment as she allowed her brown eyes to go wide and her face to take on the expression of innocence.

"You won't hurt me?" she asked timidly, while on the inside rolling her eyes. The man nodded and licked his lips again as he took in her thin body. She resisted the urge to hurl. Men were so predictable.

"Just come to me." he told her hoarsely as Guinevere slowly stepped towards the man. Hidden behind her back was her sword and she would use it at the perfect moment. When she was within an arm's distance of the man he lunged for her and swept her into his arms. She was flush against his red, sweaty body and she gagged as she smelt how truly awful his breath was.

"Now, now dearie, play nice." he breathed into her ear as his hands on her back began traveling southward. Guinevere raised her leg and kicked him hard where it would hurt the most. The brute grunted and bent over, releasing his hold on her. He fell to his knees in agony and Guinevere did not give him a moment to recover. Her sword came out from hiding and she didn't waste a moment burying it into his back.

"I'm not your _dearie_." she gritted out as the man grasped blindly for air before his body went limp and he died. Guinevere released her sword from his body and hurried away to see how her sister was faring.

The sight she saw caused her to stop dead in her tracks. Olwyn's attackers were carrying her struggling sister back to the wagon. Guinevere could see from this distance the damage they had done to her face as it was already beginning to swell. Olwyn struggled in her captors' grips and aimed a well place kicked to one of the men's faces, but he retaliated by clocking her in her temple.

Olwyn now knew she wouldn't be getting out of this. She only prayed that her sister was safe. She glanced madly at the forest and for a moment her blue eyes locked with Guinevere's brown ones. She tried to be brave for her sister who stood in the trees looking at her. She tried to convey everything she felt in her eyes; tried to tell Guinevere that she would be fine.

But as always her sister never listened to her…

She ran like a madwoman with a fierce battle cry as she erupted from the trees. The two men carrying Olwyn caught sight of the other Woad and one of the men went to take her down.

"Guinevere! No! Go back!" Olwyn cried from her precarious position of being held hostage. But it was too late. Guinevere had collided with the man and now they were fighting. Seeing her sister caused new fight in Olwyn and she fought fiercely against her captor, but he overpowered her. He chucked her into the wagon where she landed in a heap. She looked up to see the girl and boy from before cowering in their corner. They stared at her in fear.

A moment later Guinevere was thrown into the wagon and the latch was shut and the four occupants were locked inside in semi-darkness. Olwyn felt the world spinning and her head felt like it was cracked open, but that didn't stop her from jumping up to confront her sister.

"You idiot!" she screeched at Guinevere as she shoved her surprised sister back.

"What's the matter with you?" Guinevere yelled back as Olwyn threw back her head and bitterly chuckled.

"What's the matter with me? What's the matter with you! You should have run when you had the chance!" she shoved her again and turned away in disgust. The wagon jerked forward and was suddenly moving. Olwyn swayed in her spot as she crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. She heard her sister come up from behind her, but she didn't acknowledge her presence.

"I couldn't leave you there, Olwyn." Guinevere finally said after several tense moments of silence.

"Well you should have!" Olwyn snapped as she turned to Guinevere. "There's no point for the two of us to be in this mess!"

Guinevere suddenly reached out and placed both of her hands on Olwyn's shoulders. She forced her older sister to look into her dark eyes.

"Where you go, I go. It's as simple as that. It always has been, and it always will be."

Olwyn stared at Guinevere for several moments before smiling and embracing her sister tightly. Guinevere returned the embrace and both stood that way for a long time, just holding each other. When they finally pulled apart Olwyn was wiping her eyes and joked, "I thought I was the sentimental one."

Both girls laughed and then seemed to remember that they weren't the only ones in the wagon. Both turned to see the pair still cowering in the corner.

"We won't hurt you, we promise." Olwyn said softly as she kneeled down to get a better look at the two. The girl seemed to be about Guinevere's age and the boy seemed to be around eight or nine years old.

"I am Olwyn and this is my sister Guinevere." Olwyn introduced themselves and waited for the duo to do the same. Finally the girl spoke in a soft, scared voice.

"I am Wynda and this is my brother Lucan."

Olwyn smiled to the pair to show them she meant them no harm. "Why are you here?" she asked Wynda and the girl grimaced while she stroked her brother's hair.

"We were collecting food for our family when they ambushed us. Threw us in here like dogs."

"Do you have any idea what they want with you?" Olwyn asked while slowly moving closer to the two.

"Or where they are taking us?" Guinevere asked from where she stood. Wynda shook her head and suddenly winced in pain. Olwyn noticed the reaction and stepped closer. She took Wynda's head in her hands and examined her temple. After a moment she released the girl.

"You're bleeding." she announced to the wagon before sitting down right next to Wynda and Lucan. Without a moment's thought she reached down and ripped the helm of her skirt. A strip of wool came loose and she gently placed it against the cut. Wynda and Lucan watched in fascination as Guinevere smirked and rolled her head.

"And here you said that you were rubbish at this healer nonsense."

Olwyn ignored her sister and continued pressing down until the bleeding stopped. In the faint light she looked over the cut to see that it wasn't too deep. All of a sudden she remembered the pouch Heulfryn had given her hours before. It now felt like a lifetime ago.

She pulled it out and sorted through, on a mission to find what she was looking for. She gave a cry of success as she found the plant she had been looking for. Throughout this Guinevere had been keeping her distance, but had finally sat down next to her sister.

"What's that?" Wynda asked as Olwyn pulled out several stalks of touch-me-not. She held them up and glanced at Wynda.

"It will help with your cut, though I don't know how effective it will be seeing as it needs to be warm to do any good. But I'll try my best." she ripped another strip of her dress before placing the flower into her mouth.

"Olwyn, what are you doing?" Guinevere asked in alarm but Olwyn shook her head. Several moments later she spat out the flower and pressed it down hard into the cloth.

"Placing things into your mouth heats them up, that's why ice melts when we suck on it." she explained as she wrapped the now wet plant in the cloth.

"And the only way touch-me-not can be useful for cuts is when it is warm. Since we don't have a fire, we'll have to make do with this." she turned towards Wynda to place the plant at her cut to help heat it. Lucan flinched back and Olwyn gently smiled at him.

"Don't worry; I won't hurt your sister."

"You promise?" the boy asked timidly as Olwyn bit her lip to hide her growing grin. She nodded to him and he seemed to relax as Olwyn held up the damp leaves to Wynda's cut.

"Hold that there for awhile and it should help heal it quicker, sorry about the spit." she apologized and scooted away as Guinevere smiled.

"How long will it take father to realize we have been taken?" Guinevere asked as Olwyn shrugged.

"I don't know, soon I hope." she admitted as the two sat with their back against the wagon walls. It was a bumpy ride and the two Woads were constantly being knocked about.

"Will he rescue us?" Guinevere asked and Olwyn sighed.

"We don't even know where we're going, but wherever it is, it's bound to have more soldiers. Father will not waste men, not with the Saxons arriving soon. Not even for us."

Guinevere sighed as she leaned her head back against the wood.

"So, we shall have to free ourselves."

"It seems likely." Olwyn responded and the two did not talk anymore. The four companions in captivity stayed silent as the wagon continued blundering over the rough terrain of northern Briton. None of them knew how long they had been in this wooden prison. But after what seemed like an eternity the terrain smoothed out and they heard shouting from above. Finally the wagon slowed and then came to a complete stop. Olwyn and Guinevere exchanged looks just before the latch was undone and the wagon door came down. Sunlight glared into the dark prison and the four were left to blink away the brightness.

Slowly Guinevere and Olwyn glanced outside to see their new prison.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

The Other Sister

A beefy arm reached into the wagon and roughly grabbed Guinevere by her thin wrist. She went falling out of the wagon.

"Guinevere!" Olwyn cried, lunging forward only to be grabbed at by a soldier's hand. He tossed her out of the wagon without any remorse. She hit the hard ground and rolled onto her side just as Lucan and Wynda landed beside her. She felt a hand at her shoulder and was pulled to her feet by her sister.

When the spots from the sun disappeared Olwyn was given a better, but lugubrious view of her prison.

It was a Roman home in the middle of northern Briton.

Though Helen had never been to the great wall to the south there was no doubt that this home was Roman. Its arches and structure was alien to anything Olwyn had every seen before. It stood tall and imposing in the biting fall air and with the backdrop of a grey sky that threatened rain. Olwyn threw a look over her shoulder to see tall, thick stone walls enclosing the property with guards at every outpost.

Escape would be futile.

The home might have been called elegant except for the crudely crafted huts that littered the property. Many people seemed to live in these huts; they were emaciated and filthy with rags for clothing. Men seemed bent with the hardship placed upon their shoulders, women had a hard look to their weathered faces and no child was smiling.

Olwyn had heard of these people.

They were what the Romans referred to as serfs: men and women who worked the property of a lord in return for safety and a place to call home.

In Olwyn's mind, death would be greater than a life of slavery.

From Guinevere's look of disgust, Olwyn knew that her sister agreed.

The group of serfs stopped their daily activities to glance at the four newcomers. Their eyes showing no emotions except slight relief that someone else would have to partake in the agonizing duties that they had to do every day.

Olwyn was suddenly jerked forward by a shoulder as an older man dressed in a flowing garment of white sauntered forward. Olwyn and Guinevere exchanged bewildered glances. Was this how all Romans dressed? Upon the man's head was a wreathed crown of leaves that glinted even in the faint sunlight.

His soldiers bowed to him as he marched forward and examined his newest hostages. His fat face was permanently set into an ugly sneer and it only grew worse as he raised his bushy eyebrows.

"This is the best you could do? Three women and a child? How they are expected to work fields? I told you, I wanted strong, sturdy men!" the man admonished his soldiers who flinched under his odious glare.

"As if we would be your slaves!" Olwyn hissed without thinking. An ominous silence fell over the property as the man turned to her with rage in his eyes. He nodded behind her and suddenly a palm lashed out and struck her in the face.

"Olwyn!" Guinevere cried from her spot. She made a move to her sister but was held back by her captor. Olwyn was roughly ushered up from the ground and held harshly by a soldier. She tasted blood in her mouth and her cheek was stinging.

The man only chuckled at the pain so clearly seen on Olwyn's face. She refused to show her true emotions and molded her face into an expressionless canvas. The man looked back and forth from Guinevere to Olwyn.

"A bit of spirit in you, eh? Good. My men will work it out of you in time."

Olwyn shivered at the way her captor chucked; his hot breath staining her skin. The scene she was involved in had seemed to be gaining an audience. A lady in a scarlet gown had come from the house to see what was happening, and two men in dirty, thick brown robes had come up from behind to see what was occurring. Hanging from their necks were silver crosses and in their hands they held thick tomes.

"A strong spirit also means strong labor. I know your kind, women who can't accept failure. A troublesome trait unless put to good use."

"Such as being worked to the bone without any pay?" Guinevere quipped and Olwyn was worried that this would earn a slap for her sister. However, the man only threw back his head and barked out a hoarse laugh.

"Pay? Of course I am paying you. I am giving you what cannot be so easily attained. I am giving you an eternity in heaven. Surely any good Christian women would be content with that."

He flashed his weasel grin to all three women but it disappeared as a chuckle erupted from Guinevere's throat. Olwyn sighed, here they go…

"A wonderful payment…if only I believed in _your_ God."

The result was spontaneous.

The man backed away as if burned. His dark eyes quickly taking in the appearance of Guinevere and Olwyn. He now saw the signs of their culture embedded in their clothing and spirit.

"_Woads_!" he spoke the words as if they were poison. The grip of Olwyn's captor tightened and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

"And proud of it!" Guinevere retorted and Olwyn wanted to slap her, but she was too far away. Sometimes her sister could be so dense. Did she not see this was not going to do any good?

"Heathens." the men in robes murmured to each other as Olwyn glared at them. The man still seemed dazed and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. He looked at the party of four without remorse in his eyes.

"Kill them." he ordered to his men. Lucan immediately ducked behind Wynda who tried to hide him from view. Olwyn and Guinevere struggled in their confinements as the men unsheathed their swords and raised them.

The women in scarlet rushed forward to the man's side.

"My Lord, I beg you to be merciful."

He whirled on her, stubby finger pointing.

"Be quiet woman! They are heathens, they do not deserve life!" he turned to his men and was about to give the signal when one of the brown robed men came forward.

"My Lord, if I may have a moment."

The man, looking visibly frustrated, nodded and the robed man began to speak.

"Master Marius is a kind man that you are. These treacherous barbarians deserve death and an eternity in hell, it is true. However, would it not be more beneficial to you if you allowed the women life and allowed us to convert them to the ways of Christianity? Then they shall be happy to serve you and will do so with all diligence."

"I would rather die than serve you!" Guinevere yelled from across the way. The man, Marius, looked at her and than at the robed man, who Olwyn guessed was a monk or a priest. They were men who went about spreading the religion that was Christianity. She had only ever heard unpleasant things about them.

Marius stayed in thought for several long moments before nodding to his men. Their grips on the hostages slackened and they lowered their weapons. Marius glared once more at the four before speaking to his soldiers.

"You know what to do."

Olwyn was lifted off her feet and carried like a sack. The soldiers followed the two monks to a stone building that looked like it had been built with little care. It was the kind of building that caused anyone to look at it to shiver. It looked like it was a building meant to hide the worse of secrets.

Olwyn began to panic as the building loomed even closer. She had always been afraid of the dark and the fear had never left her. Her eyes grew wide and her movements became jerky as the darkness engulfed her.

A moment later she was beneath the ground in her stone prison.

* * *

It smelled of death.

This prison hidden under the earth.

It was no wonder when a person died their soul left their body, for who could stand to live forever in the ground? No light came into this fortress, except for the eerie glow of torch lights that danced across the stone.

Olwyn, Guinevere, and Wynda had been carelessly thrown into a cell while Lucan had been placed elsewhere. They were not the only prisoners.

They were just the only living ones.

Their cell was miniscule and filled with damp hay that lay everywhere. Everything was hard and cold, and despair had a way of seeping into one's bones. Olwyn tried to control her breathing as she sat huddled in a corner of her cell. Guinevere was pressed into her side and Wynda into the other one.

Olwyn was the oldest of the three, she had to be brave for the others, not matter how much it made her suffer.

She pushed her fears away and the sense of clawing out her own skin as she placed her arm around Guinevere and Wynda.

"It will be alright," she soothed gently, "we shall survive this."

Guinevere shrugged off her sister's arm. She never liked appearing weak.

"And how shall we do that?" she snapped as she stood hunched and began to pace hazardously back and forth.

"We are trapped beneath the ground with no way of getting out. And if we do, there's an army of Romans out there willing to slice our heads off at their master's nod. And if you can get past that, then how shall you get over the wall, hmm? Tell me dearest sister, how would you?"

Wynda sniffled into Olwyn's shoulder as Olwyn raked her fingers through Wynda's red hair. It was how she used to comfort Guinevere. In most cases Olwyn would placate her sister, but her patience had finally been worn thin.

"Do you think I am happier about this than you? Do you think that I enjoy this? I am just as furious as you Guinevere, I just know when to shut up!" she growled at her sister as she placed both of her arms around Wynda. Wynda sniffled once more and than coughed. It was a soft cough that rattled her throat. Olwyn was worried that it could develop into more. In an environment like this sickness and disease would run rampant.

Guinevere turned away from her sister and sat down at the far side of the cell in the shadows. Olwyn could still feel her scowl, but she ignored it as she held Wynda.

"Everything will be alright, I promise." she whispered to the young girl, who was shivering horribly.

"I want my ma and da."

"I know I want my father to." Olwyn softly admitted. She heard a rustle from Guinevere's corner but didn't look over to see what had caused it. She continued to hold Wynda as the crying of Lucan from his cell grew louder.

As Olwyn sat in a room that reeked of despair and death she thought that nothing could be worse. That nothing else could be taken from her now that her freedom was gone.

She was wrong.

In the night the soldiers came and took their dignity to the sounds of their screams.

* * *

Olwyn ached everywhere. Her body was black and blue and it hurt even to breathe. Her dress was in tatters and hung off her body exposing flesh in the worst of places. She sat with her back against a stone wall, simply staring at the stone ceiling. Everything was stone.

How many days had it been?

Without any sun she had forgotten the time and knew not how long she had been living in this hell that was her prison. Never her home.

The days went by slowly, the nights even slower.

Her days were spent listening to the strange tongues of the monks, who read from their heavy books. When the hostages were acting unruly they were submitted to several measures of…_conversion. _

Olwyn still remembered the screams of Guinevere the day before. She had, as usual, been mouthing off and was punished for it. Nothing was worse than Olwyn to be trapped in her cell while her sister was in pain. She had ratted at the iron bars, hoping beyond hope that they would break.

They hadn't.

Olwyn had her fair share of injuries as well. Mainly bruises and welts, but several more noticeable ones as well. Two of her fingers were broken. They stuck out at odd angles and stung at the slightest bit of contact with anything tangible. She couldn't imagine holding anything in her hands ever again.

Gone were the days of stringing a bow and watching an arrow soar through the endless sky.

That thought pierced Olwyn in her heart.

Under Heulfryn's supervision Olwyn had seen many broken bones in her time with the old follower of the druids. She had even set her own fair share of them. It should have been easy for her to set her own bones. She had thought about it constantly. She hated the appearance of her mangled hands and wanted them to look as long and as lean as they once had.

She attempted to flex her fingers but only hissed in pain. This drew the attention of Guinevere, who was sitting next to the pale Wynda, helping the younger girl eat her small share of gruel. It was the only meal the prisoners received and it was given at random intervals; only when the three were at their hungriest. The amount was always disappointing, never enough to stop the groans of a stomach that hadn't eaten in days.

The monks were missing as they had retreated to the grand Roman home for their dinner, leaving the four prisoners alone in the cells. Lucan was quietly napping in his cell and the three girls were sitting in their own cell. Guinevere left Wynda's side to come up to Olwyn. She instantly noticed the way Olwyn was staring desolately down at her fingers.

In the past few weeks Guinevere's stubborn spirit had become subdued and she no longer fought Olwyn at every turn. She knew that Olwyn was hurting in ways that she would never admit and she knew that her own stubbornness was only tiring Olwyn further. She needed to keep her strength.

"How many fingers are broken?" she asked softly, breaking Olwyn from her thoughts. Olwyn blinked her blue eyes and looked into Guinevere's dark ones. She sighed and lowered her hands into her lap.

"Two," she admitted as Guinevere seated herself next to her sister.

"Can you set them?" Guinevere asked and Olwyn shrugged.

"I am sure I can, the question is if I can do it."

"Do you need me to do it?" Guinevere asked, not questioning or commenting on Olwyn's comment. Olwyn smiled and weakly chuckled.

"And trust you with my hands? I've seen your aim; it's horrible when you're not at archery or fighting. I think I'll take my chances with myself."

Luckily for Olwyn, Guinevere did not have the strength to be angry with her sister. Also, both of her broken fingers were in one hand. She weakly held up her right and starred at the ruined joints in the faint, green light that swept across her skin.

With some effort she formed her hand into a wrist and placed her left hand over her broken fingers. Guinevere watched her sister as Olwyn's face transformed itself into the informative look of a healer searching for the illness or problem. Olwyn felt for the point where her joints were separated. When she found them she bit her tongue and pressed down.

_Crack. Crack. _

She broke off gasping, and blinding, white pain ran deep through her blood. She leaned heavily against the wall as her hands fell roughly to her lap. Guinevere placed a hand on Olwyn's sallow cheek and Olwyn slowly opened her eyes and smiled.

"They're set."

The pain had faded to a dull ache and Olwyn was able to flex her right hand without crying out. She weakly grinned, happy for her fingers to be appearing normal again. She knew it would be awhile before she could use them again, but it was better than nothing.

At least for a moment there was peace in this prisoner.

* * *

"Praise be to God." One of the monks muttered at the end of the daily Bible reading. The four prisoners had taken to ignoring him until he got angry and began his demonstrations. They were all holding their breaths waiting to see what he would say next. He had been aggravated throughout his reading due to the consistent coughing of Wynda.

The cough had overtaken her and had grown strong. Every cough rattled her small body and battered her sore throat. Her red hair hung limply across her thin face and she had lost so much more weight than Guinevere or Olwyn.

The monk closed his book and the echo of it swept around thickly as he placed his beady eyes on the redhead.

"You, girl, come here." he went to the cell door and unlocked it and waited pointedly for Wynda to come to him. Olwyn and Guinevere shared worried looks; she was too weak for any such abuse that he had planned.

"Please, sir, she is too sick! Can you not see that?" Olwyn said from beside Wynda as both Woads stood at her sides to protect her. The monk's face grew red and blotchy.

"Do not speak whore! Girl, now!"

Wynda gave a valiant effort at attempting to stand, but she was frail and swayed in place. She would have fallen if Guinevere and Olwyn hadn't held onto her.

"She is weak! Take one of us in her stead!" Olwyn offered and this only angered the monk more. He marched purposefully into the cell and yanked Wynda from their arms. He staggered out of the cell with her body dragging behind. He managed to shut the doors before Olwyn or Guinevere could make it there.

The two women watched in horror as the monk tore her dress exposing her bare back. The other monk came from the shadows, a leather whip in his hands. Lucan cried out from his little prison as his older sister lay weakly on the ground.

Wynda raised her head and attempted to smile at her brother just as the whip came down upon her back. Both Guinevere and Olwyn flinched as they stood at the bars, not being able to look away.

Wynda tried to be brave. She bit her lip until it bled, but it couldn't stop the hoarse cries from escaping from her mouth. Her whole body quivered as every lash came harder and harder.

"Stop it!" Guinevere screamed, "Can't you see she's had enough!"

Wynda's back was torn and the blood of her welts ran down her back like a river, staining the filthy floor of this prison. The monk only attacked her harder until her whole body went limp and she fainted due to the pain.

When the monks were finally down they threw Wynda back into the cell, where she landed in a heap. The two sisters hurried to her side as Olwyn cried out to Lucan to assure him that his sister was alright, but it was a lie.

She had lost so much blood.

She lay hardly breathing and staring up without seeing. They gently turned her onto her stomach to see her back and it was horrible.

"Olwyn, can you heal this? Can you?" Guinevere demanded and Olwyn shook her head.

"No, no it's too much blood lost. I can't…I can't do anything for her. I have no potions or herbs left." The monks had taken them within the first few days of their imprisonment.

"Then what shall we do?" Guinevere questioned, not believing what was right in front of her. Olwyn blinked the tears away as she ran her fingers through Wynda's hair.

"We shall stay with her. It is all we can do."

Together they rolled her onto her back and both sat holding her hands as she quietly struggled to hold onto life.

Hours passed, night came and the monks departed for their evening dinners, Lucan grew silent in his cell and fell asleep. By grace the soldiers must have found new play things for they did not come down beneath the earth.

Wynda just lay there, her breathing growing ever fainter, but she held on to her life. Her eyes grew weak as she stared wearily into the faces of the two who had been taking care of her since this whole nightmare had begun. She turned her head to the side and spoke for the first time in hours.

"L-Lucan?" she murmured, looking in vain for her little brother, who was her ray of sunshine. Olwyn tightened her grip on Wynda's hand and leaned closer to the sick woman.

"He is well, though he is worried for you. He did not stop crying your name until he fell asleep."

Wynda faintly smiled at the thought of her little brother. She squeezed both Guinevere's and Olwyn's hands.

"Promise…to l-look after him…p-please?"

"You are not dying." Guinevere stated strongly, her stubbornness coming back full force. She cupped Wynda's cheek and looked into her eyes.

"Do you hear me, you shall live to see the sun again and to see Lucan and to…_live_. You shall live a long life-" she broke off as her voice hitched and Olwyn placed a hand on her shoulder. Olwyn smiled kindly at Wynda, though tears were beginning to run down her cheeks.

"Where you are going, dear friend, is a beautiful place, where pain does not exist and neither do the evils of this world." she caressed Wynda's cheek as the girl's eyes filled with delight.

"It sounds glorious." she breathlessly whispered and Olwyn nodded, choking back a sob.

"It will be, because you shall be there. And yes, we shall protect Lucan."

Wynda smiled once more before a chill swept through her thin body. It consumed her heat and warmth and stopped her heart. It stole the breath from her lungs and in that moment she left the world of the living.

The two Woads sat in stunned silence, as tears stained their fair cheeks. A moment of silence passed, but then was shattered as Guinevere screamed. Her screams turned to sobs as she placed her head on Wynda's still breast. Olwyn, hardly controlling her own tears, hugged Guinevere from behind as her sister held onto Wynda's body.

How long they sat there was never known. Eventually, Guinevere stopped crying and sat up. She gripped Wynda's cold hand and placed her other hand at her own heart. Her words were spoken strongly and with conviction, Olwyn had no doubt that Guinevere would fulfill her vow to their departed comrade.

"On your body, innocent Wynda, I swear to all that is wonderful in this world that one day, I shall kill the man that made your death possible. I shall kill the Roman Marius by stabbing him through the heart. This I swear."

* * *

Olwyn's screams echoed throughout the cavernous underground. Pain was shooting up her arm as the monk bent her finger back until it was thoroughly broken. This marked the fourth broken finger this week. She panted as the monk finally finished and with a prayer forgiving _her _sins he pushed her back into her cell.

She sat against the stone wall as she cradled her ruined right hand. Guinevere came up beside her and stared down at the tattered limb.

"Will you set them, sister?"

Olwyn shook her head as the pain continued to roll over her, "No, not today."

She ignored Guinevere's reprimanding look as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Wynda was gone. The monks had taken her body several days ago. Lucan hadn't spoken since her death; the two only knew that he was living because of the monks discussing him in passing.

"Sister, how long have we been down here?"

Guinevere looked up in surprise before shrugging.

"I do not know, weeks maybe, possibly months. Why do you ask?"

Olwyn sardonically chuckled and shook her head. "No reason, I just enjoy knowing how long my freedom's been away from me."

Guinevere raised an eyebrow, "I thought sarcasm was my coping mechanism?" she said to her sister with a slight grin as Olwyn rolled her eyes.

"Cheeky brat." she muttered under her breath. She felt exhausted, as she usually did, but today all she desired to do was to lie down, close her eyes and to sleep for eternity. She couldn't stand it any longer. The four walls of the cell had closed in on her long ago. She felt like she couldn't breathe anymore and she was always so cold.

She closed her eyes and just imagined the rays of sun shining down on her skin. She began to drift in a sea of darkness and was just about to let it take her when a crash reverberated around. Her eyes flew open as shattered beams of sunlight filtered in from the stairs leading to the outside world.

Someone had finally come.


	4. Chapter 4

The Other Sister

Everything was quiet. The land was still.

In the east a pale sun shone over the sloping hills and the rugged terrain, but its rays were no match for the mist that had settled upon the dew-laden grass and was weaving itself through the ancient forests. The copious birds, who so often sang, were silent as death as an eerie stillness settled over the clear field.

The silence was only broken by the sounds of pounding hooves. In the distance, on a plunging slope, seven mighty steeds appeared, each carrying a seasoned warrior upon their backs. In the faint sunlight, the metal of their armor glinted and shone true. Seven companions sat there as fourteen pair of eyes focused solely on the western horizon in hopes of catching a glimpse of a Roman party.

They did not have to wait long.

Suddenly, armored guards on horseback appeared from the crest of a hill. Following behind them was a finely furnished chariot carrying the Bishop Germanus. All-in-all, a party of twenty or so men was riding towards Arthur and his legendary knights.

"Ah," the grizzly and bearded Gawain murmured, "As promised, the bishop's carriage."

The youngest of the men, the handsome and fair Galahad, leaned in towards the bawdy Bors and said with a large grin,

"Our freedom, Bors."

"Mm." Bors grunted and licked his dry lips, "I can almost taste it."

Grins and good natured laughter reverberated through the small party as they looked on as the carriage came ever closer. Their leader, Arthur sat poised on his steed Tiberius and looked intently to the arriving legion. His posture was tense, his shoulders thrown back, and his head held high. His green eyes darted from the oncoming men to the shuttering woods as the trees danced in the wind.

Something was not right.

Perhaps it was his paranoia, but as the hairs on the back of his neck stood, Arthur knew that getting the bishop to the Wall in one piece was not going to be easy.

It never was.

Suddenly, an arrow shot through the trees and embedded itself into the chest of a Roman soldier. He gave only a gasp of surprise and pain before falling to the ground dead. Not even a moment later the ground trembled and the silence of the morning was broken as a fierce battle cry echoed all around.

Swarming in from both sides of the clearing, a wave of blue Woads rushed into the field. They came in hordes and with spears and blades in their hands. They wasted no time in stampeding into their overwhelmed enemies.

Without glancing to his men, Arthur kneaded his steed and went charging forward. The accompanying sound of hooves told him that his men were not far behind. The seven horses sprinted across the field, making their way closer to the massacre occurring only yards away.

When they were in sight Arthur raised his mighty sword Excalibur and held it high above his head. He saw the fear in his adversaries' eyes as he and his men rained down upon them. Expertly twirling the blade he brought it down upon the back of an unfortunate Woad who went tumbling down from the force of the blow.

The knights split up as the true battle began. Ever daring, Lancelot leapt from his mount and magically produced two long swords from his back and full heartedly threw himself headfirst into the chaos. The surly Dagonet and his hefty axe had no problems in battering the Woads down as he barged through the masses of blue bodies.

Arthur maintained his mount until an arrow forced him to the ground. He expertly fought against his foes as they fell before Excalibur. Gawain moved towards the carriage to check in on the bishop. He only caught a glimpse of a bewildered, robed man before he was thrown from his own horse. He rolled into a standing position and turned to face his enemy with his every trusty hatchet. Bors, who was never one for eloquence, wasted no time in tackling several Woads into the freezing river. Galahad held his own with his own sword.

That left Tristan, the most apt fighter of them all to use his arrows and take down the Woads from the trees. He befell many men before leaping down and producing two blades from his person. He stood still in the chaos and waited for the Woads to come to him.

They did not disappoint.

In seconds he was surrounded, but with his cunning and fast strikes he was able to take down three men without batting an eye. With all seven knights on foot, and aid coming from the Roman soldiers, the passionate Woads did not stand a chance against their better armed adversaries.

Seeing no chance of winning, many of the Woads hightailed it into the trees where they knew the Romans would not follow. The rest lay dead upon the earth as scarlet blood seeped from their bodies. Sensing the battle ending, Bors let out a horrific war cry and grinned as he sauntered towards the carriage, passing Gawain as he stabbed a Woad in the chest and threw him to the ground.

Bors made it to the carriage and threw open the transparent veil to glimpse inside the wooden contraption. What met him was the grim sight of the decidedly dead bishop; an arrow protruding from his chest. His face was contorted into a grimace of pain and his lifeless eyes stared ahead dimly.

Bors and Gawain exchanged grave looks before Gawain stomped away. He threw his hatchet upon the earth and breathed in raggedly, trying to control his famous temper. It was only then that the two noticed the trembling monk hidden beneath the carriage.

"_Gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus et Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus. Benedictus fructus ventris tui, lesus. Benedicta tu in mulieribus…" _

The monk repeated this over and over, his hands clasped and his eyes turned upwards to the heavens. Gawain felt no pity for the holy man as he glared and muttered,

"Save your prayers, boy. Your god doesn't live here."

Across the way, Arthur was not yet done with his killing. Left standing was only one Woad, a tall and handsome man who had the misfortune of sparring against the legendary commander. He dropped his axe as Arthur precisely placed Excalibur at his throat. He breathed in deep before dropping to his knees and meeting Arthur's steely gaze head on.

"Why did Merlin send you south of the Wall?" Arthur demanded to know as the Woad smirked. He responded in his native tongue as Arthur's eyes narrowed. His eyes fell upon the axe laying a few feet away in the grass.

"Pick it up." he ordered and nodded to it, "Pick it up." his sword pressed harder into the man's throat before the Woad finally complied and retrieved the weapon. He closed his eyes, bowed his head and waited for death.

Almost as if feeling an omnipresent gaze upon his face, Arthur raised his eyes and glanced towards the misty woods as a breeze ruffled his hair. He could almost imagine Merlin's eyes boring into his own. After a moment he glanced back at the warrior before him and lowered Excalibur. Without another glance, he turned on his heel and purposefully marched towards the carriage.

Not wasting a moment, the warrior, Eirian, jumped to his feet, and quickly retreated into the protection of the woods. When he came to Merlin's side he finally allowed himself the chance to breathe.

"He did not kill me." he breathlessly informed his father as the older man nodded.

"No, he did not."

"He is not like the others." Eirian said a moment later as the two watched Arthur. The commander stood at the carriage conversing with the bald pit-bull of a soldier.

"No, he is not. This is why he shall be valuable to us. Come."

And then the two Woads disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

"Bors," Arthur nodded to his companion as Bors kept guard outside the carriage.

"What a bloody mess," the man retorted, stepping aside and allowing Arthur to peek in. Arthur remained stoic as he took in the grisly sight. He looked for a moment before saying aloud,

"That's not the bishop."

This raised his men's spirits, as they were concerned that the bloodshed had been for not. Arthur moved away from the chariot, his eyes roaming over the few living Roman soldiers.

"God help us," the monk Horton murmured as he leaned against the carriage to support his trembling legs, "What are they?" he motioned to the blue bodies staining the earth as the stench of death began to set in.

"Blue demons that eat Christians alive." Lancelot nonchalantly replied, leaning into the monk with a wicked grin, "You're not a Christian, are you?"

He was only rewarded with a pale-faced monk who promptly clasped his hands together and began praying fervently to the skies. This drew Bors' attention as he sauntered over to the monk and mocked his hand gestures.

"Does this really work?" he attempted the action for a moment before shrugging, "Nothing. Maybe I'm not doin' it right."

Finally spying the bishop among soldiers, Arthur marched forward to greet the man. He politely bowed his head as the bishop rode towards him on his steed; he was decked out in Roman armor and easily passed as a soldier instead of a man of God.

"Arthur," the older man greeted with a smile and a thick, Italian accent, "Arthur Castus. Your father's image. I have not seen you since childhood."

"Bishop Germanus. Welcome to Britain," Arthur gestured to the dead bodies and stained grass loitered with shields and weapons, "I see your military skills are still of use to you. Your device worked." he nodded to the dead man being pulled from the carriage.

Bishop Germanus simply shrugged, but a pleased smile graced his tan face.

"Ancient tricks of an ancient dog." he turned his gaze to Arthur's men and transformed his face into a grin as he dismounted.

"And these are the great Sarmatian knights we have heard so much of in Rome." He began looking over the remnants of battle and remarked thoughtfully, "I thought the Woads control the north of Hadrian's Wall."

"They do," Arthur replied as he sheathed Excalibur, "But they occasionally venture south. Rome's anticipated withdrawal from Britain has only increased their daring."

"Woads?" the bewildered monk asked in confusion as he grasped onto his rosemary for protection as steely eyes turned towards him.

"British rebels who hate Rome." Gawain replied in a bored manner from atop his horse.

"Men who want their country back!" Galahad exclaimed, ignoring the warning look Arthur flashed towards him. Of all the men, Galahad was always the fiercest in his detest of the Romans (save Arthur) and his desire to return home. They all desired freedom. Unlike Arthur, they had been press-ganged into service for fifteen long and bloody years and it was finally at its end.

After today, they would be free.

"Who leads them?" Germanus asked, ignoring the blazing fire in the young lad's eyes.

"He's called Merlin." Lancelot supplied from his corner as he raised an eyebrow, "A dark magician, some say."

"Tristan," Arthur spoke, stepping forward, "Ride ahead and make sure the road is clear."

Tristan nodded and in a moment was gone as he and his horse disappeared into the folds of the landscape. After watching him go, Arthur turned back to the bishop.

"Please do not worry, Bishop. We will protect you." Arthur gravely promised as was his nature. He stood by the carriage as the bishop hoisted himself up into it.

"Oh, I've no doubt, Commander. No doubt." he disappeared behind the curtain as the carriage rumbled forward. Arthur risked a glimpse once more to the forest before mounting Tiberius and trailing after the carriage as his knights followed.

Leaving nothing behind but broken bodies.

* * *

A grander sight was never seen as Hadrian's Wall loomed before them. It spanned over 70 miles from coast to coast and stood 21 feet high. It was an impregnable wall that had stood for three centuries, guarding against the pagans of the north.

And for the past fifteen years it had served as a home of sorts for Arthur and his knights.

They came upon the crest of the hill and looked to the Wall as the carriage rumbled below on the dirt path leading to the gates.

"Well," Bors began, "Now that we're free men, I'm gonna drink till I can't piss straight."

"You do that every night." Gawain interjected with a cheeky grin coming across his handsome face.

"I never could piss straight," Bors murmured thoughtfully before proudly grinning as he sat up straight, "Too much of myself to handle…down there." he clarified as his companions rolled their eyes.

"Well, it's a problem," Bors continued, "No, really, it is. It's a problem. It's like a baby's-"

"…baby's arm holding an apple." the knights finished in exasperation and shakes of their heads before maneuvering their mounts to descend the hill. They came down in a pack and trailed behind the Roman party several feet ahead of them. Laughter and light words passed through the men, but Galahad was staring intently at the chariot before them.

"I don't like him," he said to Bors and Gawain, "That Roman." he clarified with a nod of his head. "If he's here to discharge us, why doesn't he just give us our papers?" something close to a pout marred Galahad's face as Gawain bit his lip to stop his rumbling laughter.

"Is this your happy face?" he teased before continuing, "Galahad, do you still not know the Romans? They won't scratch their asses without holding a ceremony."

"Why don't you just kill him, and then discharge yourself after?" Bors asked with a bawdy grin as Galahad rolled his eyes and glared.

"I don't kill for pleasure, unlike some." he turned pointedly to Tristan who had just ridden into the conversation. The man seemed nonplussed by Galahad's accusation and nonchalantly shrugged and replied,

"Well, you should try it someday. You might get a taste for it." he grinned at Galahad's disgusted expression.

"It's a part of you." Bors threw in, "It's in your blood."

"No, no, no." Galahad adamantly denied before earnestly staring ahead. "As of tomorrow this was all just a bad memory."

He kicked his horse and went riding ahead as Gawain stared after his young friend before sighing.

"I've often thought about what going home would mean after this." he said a few moments later to Bors, "What will I do? It's different for Galahad. I've been in this life longer than the other. So much for home. It's not so clear in my memory."

Bors grunted and shook his head, "You speak for yourself. It's cold back there and everyone I know is dead and buried." Then Bors looked thoughtful before remarking, "Besides, I have, I think, a dozen children."

"Eleven." Gawain deadpanned while staring incredulously at his brother in arms.

"You listen. When the Romans leave here," he gestured to the fort, the Wall, the cemetery holding their dead comrades, and the little huts filtering around the wall.

"We'll have the run of all this place. I'll be governor in my own village and Dagonet will be my personal guard and royal ass-kisser. Won't you, Dag?"

No response came from the sturdy man riding in the back of the pact.

Gawain only rolled his eyes at Bors' antics as Lancelot rode up to partake in this riveting conversation.

"First thing I will do when I get home is find a beautiful Sarmatian woman to wed." Gawain proclaimed, but his happiness was marred by Bors' loud snort.

"A beautiful Sarmatian woman?" he asked before cackling, "Why do you think we left in the first place? Mooo!" he cowed as Galahad looked to the ever reasonable Lancelot.

"What about you, Lancelot?" he asked in an amused fashion, "What are your plans for home?"

The dashing knight responded with a rakish smile, "Well, if this woman of Gawain's is as beautiful as he claims, I expect to be spending a lot of time at Gawain's house. His wife will welcome the company."

"I see. And what will I be doing?" said knight asked with a tight smile.

"Wondering at your good fortune that all your children look like me." Lancelot smoothly retorted before cantering forward to Arthur's side. Gawain chuckled before shaking his head,

"Is that before or after I hit you with my axe?"

A screech broke through the banter as a hawk cut through the sky and perched upon Tristan's shoulder. It was no secret that Tristan had always preferred the company of his bird companion compared to human contact.

"Where you been now? Where you been?" he asked softly as his long fingers carded through the fine feathers. The bird only chirped in response before opening its mouth and begging for a treat. Tristan chuckled and pulled out a worm from his pocket.

"And what you do Arthur?" Lancelot asked as he came upon the commander's side, "When you return to your beloved Rome?" Lancelot's tone turned mocking but Arthur refused to be baited. He turned to his friend with clear eyes.

"Give thanks to God that I survived to see it." he honestly replied and ignored Lancelot's grimace of disgust.

"You and your god! You disturb me." Lancelot retorted bluntly as Arthur sighed and shook his mane of curly hair.

"I want peace, Lancelot. I've have enough." he looked over the land before glancing at his companion, "You should visit me." he suggested, already knowing the answer.

"It's a magnificent place," he carried on before Lancelot could counterattack his words, "Rome. Ordered, civilized, advanced."

"A breeding ground of arrogant fools." Lancelot muttered under his breath, well aware that Arthur could hear him anyway.

"The greatest minds in all the lands have come together in one sacred place to help make mankind free." Arthur idealistically persisted as Lancelot suggestively quirked a brow.

"And the women?"

Arthur chuckled and shook his head, "Oh Lancelot." he murmured before riding forward to be alone and shift through his own thoughts. Truly, he was ready to leave this island though he had spent nearly his whole life here. More than anything he was ready to be reunited with his dear mentor, Pelagius. He had not seen the man since he was eleven, but the short time he had spent with the philosopher had changed his life.

He leaned down and sorted through his leather pouch until he came upon his most treasured item. He pulled it out and cupped it in his calloused hand. It was a small, wooden figurine that he had carved himself so many years ago. It was a red dragon, the emblem of his father, though the paint had faded and chipped over the years. He still remembered the day he had finished it.

_The sky was cloudy and grey and the ground wet from a long rain. The Roman fort, so often filled with soldiers, was empty for once as the men had taken to the fields to practice and sharpen their skills. _

_Near the mighty Hadrian's Wall, a woman stood clothed in a cloak as she wandered through the market place searching for some fruits. _

"_Mother!" a gleeful voice called as a young boy sprinted through the mud, "I finished it!" Arthur called as he collided into his mother's arms. She stumbled back but was able to support the two, though her son was growing taller with every passing day. She glanced down as a small figurine was pressed into her nose. She held it in the palm of her hand and took in the sight of the newly painted dragon. _

"_That's beautiful." she said with a smile before her attention was taken by the sight of an elderly man standing at the battlements of the Wall. _

"_Mother?" Arthur asked confused before his gaze followed hers and his face broke into a broad grin. _

"_Pelagius!" he tore away from his mother's arms and ran up the stone stairs two at a time to reach Pelagius' side. _

"_For you!" he panted while holding out the dragon. The old man took it with a smile before ruffling Arthur's curls. _

"_Well done, Arthur." he proudly stated before handing the dragon back to the boy. "You keep it. Deliver it to me when you come to Rome." he placed his arm around the boy and turned him towards the training occurring down below in the plain. _

"_Come, behold, Arthur. Young knights." it was true, men and boys of all ages stood below in the mud and rain-soaked grass learning to fight and defend. _

"_If you so choose, they may someday be yours to lead, just as your father before you." Arthur stood tall at the mention of his father who had only passed that winter. Arthur eagerly looked over the squadron below him before turning to Pelagius, _

"_I'm to be their commander?" the boy asked in awe as Pelagius chuckled and nodded. _

"_Yes. But with this title comes a sacred responsibility: to protect, to defend, to value their lives above you own." he warned the child who nodded, "Should they perish in battle, to live your life gloriously, in honor of their memory." _

"_And what of their free will?" the boy asked as Pelagius bit down to stop his smile. It seemed that Arthur had learned more from him then he had originally thought. _

"_It has always fallen to a few to sacrifice for the good of the many." he advised the boy, "The world isn't a perfect place, but perhaps people like you, Arthur, and me, and them can make it so."  
_

_The two stood and continued to watch over Arthur's future destiny. _

"We'll be together soon enough, my old friend." Arthur whispered as his fist close over the dragon. The commander looked up just at the gate came into view.

"Open the gates!" guards chorused and a moment later the party was admitted into the fort. Arthur and his knights rode ahead, their horses plowing through the streets as women and children clung to the sides, mindful not to get trapped beneath the creature's large hooves.

The iron gates to Arthur's home were opened as he and his men rode into the courtyard, a moment later followed by Germanus and his men. Children curiously clung to the closed gates to catch a peek at this new and foreign visitor.

"Welcome back, Arthur, Lancelot." A man murmured coming forward to hold onto their horses as Arthur smiled down at his faithful manservant.

"Jols," he greeted before dismounting just as Germanus popped out from the carriage, still in armor.

"Bishop," Arthur greeted the man with a nod and gestured to his quarters, "Please, my quarters have been made available to you."

"Oh, yes," Germanus nodded with gusto, "I must rest." and without another word he marched to his temporary chambers with Horton at his heels.

With their mission finished the knights were free to wander at will and go their separate ways. Galahad, Gawain and Lancelot quickly hurried to the nearest tavern to check in with their sweethearts, Tristan and his hawk disappeared into the crowd, Dagonet wandered off to be alone and Bors was just about to follow when he noticed his woman marching towards him, their eleven children lagging behind; six girls and five boys to be exact, though Bors often forgot how many children he had and what gender they were. They didn't even have names, just numbers.

A smug grin crossed his face as his woman, Vanora, came into arms length. A sultry grin clung to her heart-shaped face and she looked ready to embrace him, but then her hand whipped out and slapped him across the cheek.

"Where have you been?" she demanded to know as she placed her hands on her hips and raised her chin, not at all afraid of Bors and his strength. She was a pretty woman, though the hardships of living with nearly nothing her whole life and raising eleven children on her own clearly shone on her face with premature lines. She was a woman who did not buckle under burdens as her whole life had been one huge burden. She was also not a woman to cower in fear and looked Bors right on in the eyes as he righted himself. She needn't had to worry, Bors liked it when she was tough.

"Oh, my little flower," he huskily whispered, steeping closer to the fuming, ruddy-haired woman, "Such…passion!" he exclaimed before pulling her flush against him and claiming her lips for himself. She fought him for a second before giving in and responding greedily to his caresses. It had been weeks since they had last touched.

Finally they broke apart as Bors immediately began to seek out his favorite child.

"Where's my Gilly?" he asked as said child came into view. Bors was quick to sweep him up into his arms and hold him up high.

"You been fighting?" he demanded to know as Gilly nodded.

"You been winning?"

"Yes," the child proclaimed proudly as Bors grinned.

"That's my boy," he turned to the rest of his brood and smiled large, "Come on, all my other bastards!"

He wrapped his arm around his woman as he children gleefully yelled and followed after him and they disappeared into the mass of people.

Yes, it was just another day at Hadrian's Wall.

* * *

**SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME SO LONG TO POST! I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE THE CHAPTER AND HOPEFULLY YOU ALL HIT THE GREEN BUTTON AND LEAVE A REVIEW! **


	5. Chapter 5

The Other Sister

Night had fallen upon Hadrian's Wall as the numerous stars dotted the vast expanse of space. The Roman fort came to life when the moon rose high in the sky. The few taverns were a favorite place of the soldiers, a place where they could drink and be merry with fresh, young girls.

Night settled calmly at the home of Arthur as he and his knights eagerly awaited their discharge papers. As they sat in the grand dining hall together, the bishop Germanus was familiarizing himself with his temporary quarters, the rooms of Arthur.

They were not as grand or as luxurious as his dwellings in the city of Rome, but the seemed to suit the grave commander that was Arthur. Nothing screamed ostentatious of his quarters and everything was arranged neatly and well organized. It was the typical room of a soldier. It held few sentimental items, but on the whole was bare of anything personal. Though the commander did seem to have an over abundance of ancient text and script as was evident on his desk.

Candles stood proudly in the room, as their flickers cast a dancing light against the walls. Germanus stopped his inspections as he came upon a round plaque centered on Arthur's desk. His face hardened as he picked the item up and held it staunchly in his grasp.

"Pelagius," he hissed as he oh so carelessly allowed the object to slip through his fingers. It broke into several pieces as it hit the stone floor.

"Very kind of Arthur to give up his room," Horton said cheerfully as he began unpacking for his master. At Germanus' glare he quickly amended, "But, of course, it is to be expected."

He was saved a verbal lashing from his master as the servant of Arthur, Jols, entered the room without so much as knocking. He ignored Horton and turned immediately to the Roman bishop.

"Sir, I'm here to escort you to the fortress hall."

Germanus didn't respond and only glanced at Jols as he swept out of the room with all the grace and dignity befitting of a true Roman. To Jols it screamed arrogance and he hid his sneer as Horton came to him.

"When my master meets with your knights, he must be seated last and he must be seated at the head of the table." Horton instructed with his beady eyes and seedy smirk. Jols only glared and leaned into the monk to share confidentially,

"Your mast can plonk his holy ass wherever he chooses."

And with a satisfied grin at leaving the monk absolutely dumbfounded and horrified, Jols swept out of the room to follow the bishop.

As the three came upon the open doorways to the hall, they could hear Arthur's deep voice ring out.

"Let us not forget we are the fortunate ones. Let us raise our wine to those gallant and extraordinary men we have lost, but who will be remembered for eternity."

"To freedom!" Bors yelled as it was chorused back by the knights of legend. Germanus impatiently stopped in front of the elegantly carved wooden doors and turned to Horton who quickly scampered into the room without taking in his surroundings.

"His Eminence, Bishop Naius Germanus…" he announced loudly and proudly as his eyes fell upon the knights. They were scattered across a intricately designed wooden round table, all wearing their ceremonial armor.

The monk was aghast as the table, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he stammered,

"A round table? What sort of evil is this?"

"Arthur says for men to be to be men they must first all be equal." Jols answered for his master as he stepped into the room with the bishop. Pride and awe shone brightly in his eyes as he nodded his head to his master, and more importantly to his friend.

All Germanus could focus his eyes on were the fact that so little men sat at such large of a table, off though it was in its unorthodox shape. None the less he swept himself down into the chair perched next to Arthur and once more peered around at those who were present.

"I was given to understand there would be more of you." he observed as the knights shared glances before Arthur interjected,

"There were." he said after a moment of silence for the loss of so many comrades, "We have been fighting here for 15 years, Bishop."

"Oh, of course." Germanus was quick to respond, never wanting to appear foolish, "Arthur and his knights have served with courage to maintain the honor of Rome's empire on this last outpost of our glory. Rome is most indebted to you noble knights. To your final days as servants to the empire." he held up his goblet in a toast but became perturbed when no one else followed his lead.

"Day," Lancelot bristled from across the table, "Not days."

Once more an uneasy silence fell upon the hall as Germanus cleared his throat and began to speak directly to Arthur.

"The Pope's taken a personal interest in you. He inquires after each of you, and is curious to know if your knights have converted to the word of Our Savior or…?" he trailed off as Arthur sighed and replied.

"They retain the religion of their forefathers. I have never questioned that."

"Of course, of course." Germanus interjected again as the atmosphere of the hall continued to grow tense.

"They are pagans." He continued as Galahad sucked in a breath, "Hm? For our part, the Church has deemed such beliefs innocence, but you, Arthur, your path to God is through Pelagius? I saw his image in your room."

Arthur shifted in his seat, slightly perturbed that the bishop had taken it upon himself to go searching through his personal items. However, when he responded he couldn't keep the admiration out of his voice for his longtime mentor.

"He took my father's place for me." Arthur answered honestly, "His teachings on free will and equality have been a great influence. I look forward to our reunion in Rome."

Germanus looked at Arthur for a long moment and finally moved onto the topic that would be easiest to talk about. With a smile he thought of the sprawling metropolis that Arthur so idealized. If only he knew how far it had fallen…

"Ah. Rome awaits your arrival with great anticipation. You are a hero. In Rome, you will live out your days in honor and wealth. Alas…alas, we are all but players in an ever-changing world. Barbarians from every corner are almost at Rome's door. Because of this, Rome and the Holy Father have decided to remove ourselves from indefensible outposts, such as Britain. What will become of Britain is not our concern anymore. I suppose the Saxons will claim it soon."

This sent a ripple through the room as seven heads shot up to stare incredulously at the bishop.

"Saxons?" Arthur inquired in a questioning tone as Germanus nodded and sipped his wine.

"Yes, in the north a massive Saxon incursion has begun."

"The Saxons only claim what they kill." Lancelot spoke from across the way.

"And only kill everything." Gawain roughly interjected as Galahad hotly jumped into the conversation.

"So you would just leave the land to the Woads. And I risked my life for nothing." he slammed his goblet down and shook his head in disgust as Arthur sent him a warning look.

Germanus glanced around and saw how quickly things had taken a turn for the worse. Attempting to raise the knights' spirits he brought forward a small box containing the key to freedom they had been waiting 15 years for.

"Gentlemen, your discharge papers with safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire."

Looks of happiness and relief spread across the knights' faces, but they quickly diminished as Germanus closed the box and the scrolls disappeared from sight. Ignoring them Germanus turned once more to Arthur.

"I must have a word with your commander. In private."

No one moved.

"We have no secrets." Arthur declared after a moment of uncomfortable silence, but the damage had already been done. Lancelot shook his head, lowered his goblet, and stood from his spot as he spoke to the men, "Come, let's leave Roman business to Romans."

One by one the men rose and departed the hall, Bors lingered as he glared mightily at the Roman bishop.

"Let it go Bors." Dagonet softly advised as he latched his arm onto Bors' shoulder and after a moment was able to guide him to the door. The doors shut with a moan and suddenly Arthur and the bishop were left alone as candle light flickered mystically across the walls.

"Rome has issued a final order for you and your men."

Arthur blinked in confusion as dread began to settle within his stomach. Sucking in a breath he ventured to ask, "Final order?"

"You are to travel north to rescue the family of Marius Honorius and return, in particular, with Marius's son, Alecto. Alecto is the Pope's favorite godchild and pupil. It is his destiny to become a bishop, perhaps even pope one day." The bishop said in an awed tone as Arthur briefly closed his eyes and beneath the table his hand clenched into a tight fist, stretching his war-torn skin as he attempted to calm himself. Opening his eyes he addressed his companion in a low, clipped tone.

"On this day you ask this of my men. _On this day_. They have risked their lives for 15 years for a cause not of their own. And now, on the day they are to be liberated, you send them on a mission which is far more dangerous than any other they have undertaken. You tell me, Bishop, how do I go to my men and tell them that instead of freedom I offer death?" he hissed to a rather unsympathetic Germanus.

"If your men are truly the knights of legend," he began with a hard glint in his beady eyes,

"Perhaps some will survive. If it is God's will." he leaned close into Arthur and regarded the man for a moment before issuing his final threat, "Your men want to go home, and to get home they need to cross the entire breadth of the Roman Empire. Deserters would be hunted down like dogs."

He leaned back in his seat and looked silently at the Roman commander who sat stiff and tense in his seat, his green eyes never turning away from Germanus's.

"Will you defy the Pope, Arthur? Rome? God himself?"

He struck a nerve.

If Arthur had been a lesser man with a quick temper, he wouldn't have hesitated to verbally and physically lash out at the holy man who dared to question his character. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as he forced himself to find the most adequate way to respond.

"Everything," he spoke with conviction, "I've done has been for the Church and for Rome. Do not mistake a loyal soldier for a fool, Germanus."

"Would you leave a defenseless Roman boy, destined to lead _our_ Church, at the hands of the Saxons?" The bishop fired back with hesitation.

"Fulfill this mission, and your men will receive their discharge. Their papers will be waiting here the moment they return. You have my word." He raised his hand to his heart in an air of sincerity, but the grave frown upon Arthur's lined face did not cease as he stood and moved to the doors. Before walking through them, he turned to the Bishop and made clear a promise of his own.

"You think very hard upon that vow, Bishop," every word was soft and dangerous, "For I will hold you to it. Break it, and no Roman legion, papal army, nor will God himself protect you. That is my word."

He left the dinning hall without another word and as Bishop Germanus watched the commander leave, he finally understood why Arthur's name was whispered across the Empire.

It did not take a fool to see the power he harnessed.

* * *

Away from Arthur's home, and in a much _livelier _portion of the fort, Arthur's men could be found in a popular, outdoor tavern manned by Bors's Vanora. Torchlight provided a warm glow in the crisp winter night as soldiers and men of every walk of life gathered around to partake in games, alcohol, and pleasing women.

Of course, all it takes is one pigheaded moron to ruin the fun.

Blandinus, a soldier of no consequence, and his cronies staggered in and immediately set their sights upon their favorite activity: to bother the knights incessantly. He didn't waste a moment in sidling up to Gawain and Gawain's female friend who were, besides enjoying each other, watching Galahad take his turn at darts.

"So, Gawain," Blandinus remarked as the knight rolled his eyes and allowed his head to fall forward onto the lovely Caelia's shoulder as she giggled.

"Bugger off!" The knight muttered as he tightened his grip on his woman while she wiggled alluringly in his lap. As usual, Blandinus took no notice of how disdainful his company was to everyone but his lackeys.

"How does it fell, that after today, you and your men will no longer be the glory of Britain?"

Blandinus was a man obsessed with gaining power, yet had no talent or intelligence advantageous in gaining said power. So he was eternally left to rot in the bitterness and resentment he created in watching better men reap their just rewards.

"It feels a hell of a lot better knowing I'll never have to see your pathetic face again." the knight snarled as Blandinus's face turned an unattractive hue of crimson.

"Listen here, you rotten son of a-" before he could continue, Gawain had unsheathed a dagger and had stabbed it down into the table right in between Blandinus's ring and middle finger. He did it with such precision that he didn't draw blood and with such force that the table shook.

"Get out of my sight." he hissed to soldier as Blandinus disappeared with his proverbial tail between his legs, his faithful followers at his heels. Gawain muttered several curses under his breath as he pried the dagger loose and sheathed it once more.

"Is my soldier mad? Do not be mad my soldier." Caelia purred as she once more wiggled and out right shrieked with laughter as Gawain tightened his grip and pressed several kisses to the back of her neck.

Across the way Lancelot was placing a small fortune on the line as he and a fellow soldier tried their luck at cards. The soldier, besides being in the middle of winning, was also regaling Lancelot with a fascinating story of a one legged whore he had encountered in Londinium.

"She gave me fleas." he finished while laying down his cards and rightfully besting Lancelot with his full house. Lancelot quirked an eyebrow at his opponent as he took his booty.

"You better hope they're fleas," he warned as a charming smile fell upon his face, "Best of three?"

Just as their new came was about to commence Vanora came whooshing by with her arms full of empty ale bottles. Lancelot's sly grin came into place as he swooped her up into his lap and gave her a loud and wet kiss to her cheek. She huffed under her breath but secretly enjoyed the attention, not because she held out any hope for Lancelot, the boy was as wily as a fox in a chicken coop, but because she always enjoyed how flustered Bors became when other men took notice of her _attributes_.

"When are you going to leave Bors and come home with me?" Lancelot whispered teasingly, not really considering bedding his brother-in-arms' lover, but also enjoying Bors's self-righteous anger.

"My lover is watching you." Vanora observed as Lancelot cocked his head to indeed see Bors watching the pair intently as he held his youngest, Number 11. Bors looked from Lancelot to his own pudgy, red-face, crying son as he murmured, "Mmm…you look nothing like him. You're all Bors."

Vanora not so politely nudged Lancelot in the gut as he gave a pained sigh and released the woman. She continued to the counter and lowered the bottles with a sigh as she hollered to her barmaid, Aeliana, "Oh, they want more!"

Across the way, Tristan had wandered over to Gawain and Galahad and had once more topped Galahad by having his knives land on the hilt of each one. Gawain watched in amazement as he asked, "Tristan, how do you do that?"

The reserved knight only shrugged and cleverly deadpanned, "I aim for the middle."

"Here," Bors announced as he shoved his crying son into Vanora's arms, "be a mother to your son."

"Oh, come here," she cooed knowing all along that Bors would be rubbish with Number 11. He was the perfect father the minute a child was old enough to start wrestling and picking fights, but anytime before that he was utterly hopeless. As she rocked her little boy, Dagonet appeared from the shadows and nodded to Bors.

"Dagonet," Bors exclaimed, "Where you been? We've got plans to make." he waved Dag to a table and turned to Vanora and began pulling her to the center of the outdoor tavern as all the eyes turned to her in curiosity.

"Sing." he commanded her as she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Just a last one," Bors begged, or at least as close as he would come to begging.

"No, I'm trying to work." she hissed between clenched teeth as she finally noticed the crowd that had gathered to watch.

"Come sing," he repeated as he backed away and loudly clapped, "Shut up! Vanora will sing."

All sound and activity silenced as everyone looked towards Vanora eagerly. It wasn't a lie to say she had the loveliest singing voice in all of northern Britain.

"Sing about home." Bors whispered as he once more took Number 11 from her and she sighed and gave in.

"Don't drop the baby." she weakly warned before sucking in a breath, closing her eyes, and softly began to sing a tune that was familiar to all of them that had come from Sarmatia.

"_Land of bear and land of eagle_

_Land that gave us birth and blessing _

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home_

_We will go home_

_We will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home singing our song…_

…_hear our singing, hear our longing_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home_

_We will go home…" _

This is how Arthur found them as Vanora finished her last, sorrowful note that faded away into the night sky. He observed his men then, sitting in the torchlight, longing etched so easily across their faces.

How could he go to them and destroy their happiness?

He turned to leave them to their night, but his faithful manservant Jols noticed him lurking.

"Arthur!" he called loudly and suddenly every eye was turned toward their commander as Arthur froze and silently cursed. He turned towards them and couldn't even find it in himself to offer tham a weak smile of greeting as Galahad came bounding over with a lopsided grin and faintly wreaking of strong ale.

"Arthur!" he joyously greeted as the others gathered around, "You're not completely Roman yet, right?"

"Rus!" Bors whooped as laughter echoed around. Arthur regarded each of his men for a long moment before beginning the speech that would destroy them.

"Knights…brothers in arms…your courage has been tested beyond all limits." he began with true sincerity as he men exchanged easy grins.

"But I must ask you now for one further trial."

An air of unease began to settle in as Lancelot furrowed his brow and Tristan watched Arthur with a steely expression. Bors remained oblivious as he held up his full bottle of ale and bluntly remarked, "Drink."

"We must leave on a final mission for Rome before our freedom can be granted." he continued without stopping as looks of happiness quickly turned to disgust, "Above the wall, far in the north, there is a Roman family in need of rescue. They are trapped by Saxons. Our orders are to secure their safety."

"Let the Romans take care of their own." Bors spat at Arthur's feet.

"Above the wall is Woad territory." Gawain interjected, already thinking this mission an impossibly doomed one.

"Our duty to Rome," Galahad hissed hotly, "If it was ever a duty, is done. Our pact with Rome is _done._"

Bors looked at Arthur with fire in his eyes as he took a step closer to his commander, "Every knight here has laid his life on the line for you. For you. And instead of freedom you want more blood? Our blood? You think more of Roman blood than you do of ours?"

Arthur felt as if he had been punched in the face. They couldn't possibly think for a moment that he wanted this any more than they did. All he wanted was peace and the security of knowing that his men would never have to fight again; that they would be free to make their own lives.

"Bors!" he yelled in a rare moment of allowing his temper to control him. He reined it in as he continued and his voice dared anyone to try and rebuke him.

"These are our orders. We leave at first light, and when we return your freedom will be waiting for you. A freedom we can embrace with honor."

"I am a free man!" Bors shouted back as it echoed around, "I will choose my own fate!"

Tristan only shrugged from where he stood and lightly remarked, "Yeah, yeah. We're all going to die some day. If it's a death from a Saxon hand that frightens you, stay home."

As always, Tristan's words struck a cord with Galahad.

"Listen," he snarled as he shoved Tristan back, "If you're so eager to die, you can die right now."

"Enough!" Lancelot ordered as he stepped in between the two men and Gawain roughly pulled Galahad back.

"I've got something to live for!" Galahad yelled as he feebly tried to fight against Gawain's ironclad grip. Arthur watched his men with dread; how easily they were already beginning to fall apart.

As if sent by an angel, Dagonet stepped forward and spoke slowly, "The Romans have broken their word. We have the word of Arthur. That is good enough. I'll prepare." he began to walk away but turned to Bors, "Bors? You coming?"

"Of course I'm coming!" Bors shrieked as he threw his goblet down and watched it break into a hundred pieces.

"Can't let you go on your own! You'll all get killed! I'm just saying what you're all thinking! Vanora will kill me." he muttered as he stomped away leaving Galahad, Gawain, and Lancelot. Tristan already having wandered away.

"And you, Gawain?" Arthur asked, turning to his old friend.

"I'm with you. Galahad as well." he pulled the younger man along with him as they too disappeared. Arthur spared a glance at Lancelot before turning away and marching to the stables, leaving his oldest friend to bristle before he followed after Arthur.

Arthur felt like punching someone a hundred times over. He could feel his blood boiling beneath his skin as he stalked angrily into the stables to begin preparing his mount for tomorrow's journey. How could he, a man of such power and distinction, be helpless to stop this? He had vowed long ago to protect all his men, and he had already lost so many, how could he lose anymore? They were more than just his knights and brothers, they were his dearest friends. With a shudder, he dropped to his knees and sought escape in his prayers.

"Oh merciful God, I have such need of your mercy now. Not for myself, but for my knights, for this is truly their hour of need. Deliver them from the trials ahead, and I will repay you a thousand fold with any sacrifice you ask of me. And if, in your wisdom, you should determine that that sacrifice must be my life for theirs, so they may once again taste the freedom that has so long been denied to them, I will gladly make that covenant. My death will have a purpose. I ask no more than that."

"Why do you always talk to God and not to me?" A voice sneered as Lancelot emerged from the shadows, regarding Arthur's position with disgust.

"Oh, pray to whomever you pray that we don't cross the Saxons."

Arthur sighed and raised himself; he did not feel up to arguing with Lancelot at this moment.

"My faith is what protects me, Lancelot. Why do you challenge this?" he asked tiredly as he ran a hand through his curly hair and turned fully to his friend.

"I don't like anything that puts a man on his knees."

"No man fears to kneel before the god he trusts. Without faith, without belief in something, what are we?"

Lancelot only blinked and changed the subject, uncomfortable with Arthur's deep probing, as usual.

"To try and get past the Woads in the north is insanity." he said without hesitation as Arthur sighed.

"Them we've fought before."

"Not north of the wall!" Lancelot cried, "How many Saxons? Hmm? How many! Tell me. Do you believe in this mission?" he stepped closer to Arthur as his commander looked him straight in the eye.

"These people need our help," he said simply, "It is our duty to bring them out."

"I don't care about your charge, and I don't give a damn about Romans, Britons, or this island. If you desire to spend eternity in this place, Arthur, so be it, but suicide cannot be chosen for another!"

"And yet you choose death for this family!" Arthur retorted knowing that only Lancelot could get him to lose his temper.

"No, I choose life! And freedom for myself and the men!" Lancelot yelled as a thick silence descended upon the stables. Arthur stepped closer to his knight and said with a breathless determination,

"How many times in battle have we snatched victory from the jaws of defeat? Outnumbered, outflanked, yet still we triumph. With you at my side, we can do so again. Lancelot, we are knights. What other purpose do we serve if not for such a cause?"

Lancelot sighed as he looked at the enigma that was Arthur Castus. His ideals and morals were so staunch and unyielding in a world of corrupt politics and rulers. Lancelot couldn't understand how Arthur could be so…_pure _after everything they had witnessed.

"Arthur," he said lowly, "You fight for a world that will never exist. _Never_. There will always be a battlefield. I will die in battle. Of that I'm certain. And hopefully a battle of my choosing. But if it be this one, grant me a favor. Don't bury me in our sad little cemetery. Burn me. Burn me and cast my ashes to a strong east wind."

He left Arthur there as the commander watched his knight disappear into the night. When he was finally and truly alone, he allowed his shoulders to slump and his head to drop. The weariness of the night's events finally washed over him and he felt weighed down by his armor. He walked himself back towards his home and went into his guest chambers which were his temporary home. He slowly and methodically peeled his armor away and before long was left standing in a simple pair of trousers with a loose fitting tunic.

Many men, on what could possibly be their last night on earth, wouldn't hesitate in finding a beautiful woman to spend it with, but Arthur had never been a man to find pleasure in such an affair. He looked longingly at the bed but still turned away from it. He left his little room and wandered with a purpose to the chapel located at the back of his home.

He slipped in through the open doors and his feet didn't make a sound against the cold, stone floor. Shattered beams of moonlight spilled in through the windows as he once more kneeled before the simple, wooden alter. It was nothing special but Arthur had always taken a quiet pleasure in admiring it during his prayers.

"Oh God," he whispered into the darkness, "Please, I beg you…spare my men. If a life must be taken, then take mine. My men have fought these long 15 years to return to their homes; do not deprive them of this. Their lives are far more valuable than mine; please, if it is in your plan to take a life, I beg you let it be me. I have already lived a rich life; let them begin living theirs…."

And so he stayed the rest of the night, deep in prayer.

* * *

Sunrise was a dismal affair at Hadrian's Wall as the sun hid behind the clouds and a cool gust of wind settled upon the land.

Winter was coming.

A soft rainfall began, but gave the promise of turning more fearsome as they went on.

Just as Arthur had expected, his men were packed and ready to go as morning dawned. They kept quiet and to themselves as they mounted their steeds and Germanus greeted them with gusto.

"To represent the Holy Court, my trusted secretary Horton-" he gestured but stopped when the monk was nowhere to be found. He bristled in place, "Horton!" he impatiently hollered as the sheepish monk appeared with his bags.

"He will be accompanying you on your quest." The bishop finished with a glare at his secretary.

"Jols, find him a horse." Arthur ordered as his manservant returned a moment later with a steed. Germanus stepped closer to Arthur and said, "Godspeed as you fulfill your duty to Rome."

"My duty is also to my men." Arthur lowly reminded the bishop as Germanus eyed him for a moment.

"Then get them home."

And with that final word of comfort, Arthur and his knights, with a few extra guests, departed from Hadrian's Wall. Their mounts kicked up dirt and debris and the great wall's gates were opened and they raced out into the savage, Woad territory.

They rode for many miles as the gentle rain turned in a downpour that bruised their skin as they rode on and on. Their only escape was when they ventured into an ancient forest with trees as tall and as thick as giants. The sky was a stormy grey and a hearty wind was propelling them forward. Tristan, the track of the group, led the group, his watchful eyes taking in every secret of their surroundings.

"Woads." he said aloud, "They're tracking us."

"Where?" Arthur inquired, his hand already reaching for Excalibur.

"Everywhere."

To prove Tristan's point, an arrow came whizzing out of the trees and imbedded itself in the trunk of a mighty oak, only inches away from Horton's head. Hoarse yells and screeches echoed all around the forest as more arrows began to rain upon them. Arthur spurred Tiberius forward as his men followed. Blue bodies and faces began to appear from the shadows as they drove the knights further and further into the abyss.

"Get back!" Bors bellowed as they blocked his way. The arrows kept coming, blocking their way as they looked for a path of escapement.

Finally, when all hope seemed lost, a horn sounded and the blue devils disappeared into the thicket, leaving the knights.

"Inish! Devil ghosts!" Dagonet swore as he finally allowed himself to breathe.

"Why would they not attack?" Galahad demanded from his mount as Arthur looked towards where the horn had sounded.

"Merlin doesn't want us dead."

* * *

Later that night found the knights camping out as a torrential downpour rained upon them, soaking them to the bone. It was no use to light a fire, and even if they could, they would be in danger of giving away their positions to the enemy. Not that any man doubted that their position was already known.

"Oh, I can't wait to leave this island," Galahad said conversationally, "If it's not raining, it's snowing. If it's not snowing, it's foggy. And that's the summer!"

"The rain is good," Tristan murmured from his spot as he sharpened his knives, "Washes all the blood away."

"Doesn't help the smell." Bors muttered as he kicked away at a rather large earthworm.

"Hey Bors," Gawain called out, "Do you intend to take Vanora and all your little bastards back home?"

"Oh, I'm trying to avoid that decision…by getting killed." he loudly chuckled and drank some ale. "Dagonet, she wants to get married and give the children names. Women!"

"The children already have names, don't they?" Lancelot asked, genuinely curious.

"Just Gilly. It was too much trouble, so we gave the rest numbers."

"That's interesting," Lancelot replied with a wicked grin, "And I thought you couldn't count."

The men guffawed as Bors rubbed his chin and looked up at the moon, which, even with the rain, still shone brilliantly down upon them.

"You know," he began thoughtfully; "I never thought I'd get back home alive. Now I've got the chance, I…I don't want to leave my children."

"You'd miss 'em too much." Gawain said in understanding as Bors nodded.

"I'll take them with me," he declared, "I like the little bastards. They mean something to me. Especially Number 3. He's a good fighter."

"That's because he's mine." Lancelot retorted without missing a beat, effectively killing the moment. Bors scowled at him and clumsily stood.

"I'm going for a piss."

Soon sleep fell upon them and as the night wore on the rain stopped, giving the weary men a few hours of peace before dawn broke upon the wild land that was the north. The knights rose quickly and, just as Galahad had jested; they began their journey with a light snowfall.

They traveled quickly through the harsh and savage land that belonged to the Woads. Soon enough though, they found a well worn path which could only lead them to their Roman family. Just before noon they came upon the peculiar sight of a Roman villa in the center of the Woad's territory. The villa was closed in by a large wall and surrounding the vast estate was a rocky mountain range.

"Who are you?" Roman guards demanded of the knights from atop the wall as Arthur answered.

"I am Arthur Castus, Commander of the Sarmatian Knights, sent by Bishop Germanus of Rome. Open the gate."

His voice left little room for argument.

The gate doors slowly opened as they knights entered the estate. Upon immediate notice were the poor, delibitated huts surrounding the estate. Far off, Arthur noticed a lot of thin, fatigued villagers surrounding something, but he couldn't tell what it was from his distance.

His eyes left the disconcerting sight as a plump and robust man sauntered forth from the great villa dressed in the traditional garb of Ancient Romans. He even had a golden crown adorning his head as he greeted the knights.

"It is a wonder you have come. Good Jesus, Arthur and his knights. You have fought the Woads. Vile creatures." he shook his head in disgust as Arthur immediately set out to fulfill his final duty.

"Our orders are to evacuate you immediately." he spoke without preamble as the man, Marius, blinked in confusion.

"But that…that is impossible," he uttered as Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"Which is Alecto?"

"I am Alecto." a lanky boy, only in his youth, answered as he stepped forward, a woman, most likely his mother and Marius's wife, at his side.

"Alecto is my son," Marius unnecessarily said, "And everything we have is here in the land given to us by the Pope of Rome."

"Well," Lancelot cut in, "You're about to give it to the Saxons."

"They're invading from the north." Arthur tactfully responded, sending a glare towards Lancelot, who ignored him as usual.

"Then Rome will send an army." Marius said confidentially as Arthur felt his patience begin to tire. They did not have much time.

"They have. Us. We lave as soon as you're packed."

"I refuse to leave!" Marius hotly replied as he finally noticed the crowd of his peasants that had gathered to watch the fascinating spectacle of seeing true knights. They had all heard the whispers of Arthur and his knights, now they were finally seeing them in action.

"Go back to work! All of you!" Marius ordered, though no one moved. It wasn't until his soldiers began forcefully moving the people back did the crowd disperse. Arthur watched on uneasily before turning once more to Marius and spoke with purpose,

"If I fail to bring you and your son back, my men can never leave this land. So you're coming with me if I have to tie you to my horse and drag you all the way to Hadrian's Wall myself. _My lord." _

Marius looked as if he had been slapped, but he slowly nodded his head as he and his family darted into their home to begin frantically packing. Arthur once more turned his eyes towards the spectacle that had more of the peasants gathered around. Arthur finally realized what they were gawking at. He dismounted and unsheathed Excalibur as he took off at a quick pace towards the crowd. As he was striding forward, a malnourished man attached himself to Arthur's side.

"Sir, you're famous," he said in awe, "You're Arthur, aren't you? I'm Ganis. I'm a good fighter and I'm smart. I'd serve you proudly."

"Are you from Rome?" Arthur asked, always moving forward.

"From hell." Bors muttered under his breath. Arthur finally came to a stop as he looked down at the elderly man, his wrists bound to two posts, his back viciously slashed with a whip, and he was slumped over in the mud.

"Who is this man?" Arthur demanded of Ganis.

"He's our village elder."

"What is this punishment for? Answer me!" he demanded of the crowd as they shied away from his harsh tone. Ganis shuffled his head before hesitantly answering,

"He defied our master, Marius. Most of the food we grow is sent out by sea to be sold. He asked that we keep a little more for ourselves, that's all. My arse has been snappin' at the grass I'm so hungry! You're from Rome. Is it true that Marius is a spokesman for God and that it's a sin to defy him?"

The knights sighed…this wasn't going to end well.

Arthur turned and looked every man, woman and child in the eye as felt his body tremble in anger. With a harsh yell be brought Excalibur down upon the posts, as his mighty blade clashed at the bindings and the man fell forward, his exhaustion evident in his weathered face.

"I tell you now, Marius is not a god. And you, all of you, were free from your first breath! Help this man. Help him!" he yelled when hesitance clouded their faces. Finally a pair of men gently lifted their elder up and escorted him away.

"Now hear me," Arthur continued loudly, "A vast and terrible army is coming this way. They will show no mercy, spare no one. Those of you who are able should gather your things and begin to move south towards Hadrian's Wall. Those unable shall come with us. You," he turned to Ganis, "Serve me now. Get these people ready."

"Right," Ganis spoke, "You heard him. You go grab enough food and water for the journey. Let's get a hurry on, else we're all dead."

Arthur returned to his men who were all silently cursing his overly righteous ways. Just then Tristan rode up from his scouting adventures to address Arthur.

"They have flanked us to the east," he announced grimly, "They're coming from the south, trying to cut off our escape. They'll be here before nightfall."

"How many?' Arthur asked, already dreading the answer.

"An entire army." Tristan never did disappoint.

"And the only way out is to the south?"

"East," Tristan responded as he glanced at all the activity taking place, "There is a trail heading across the mountains. It means we have to cross behind Saxon lines, but that's the one we should take. Arthur, who are all these people?"

"They're coming with us."

"Then we'll never make it." Tristan predicted as he steered his horse away. Arthur watched him go before his eyes once more set themselves upon an uneasy sight. The serfs had all begun packing, yet several of Marius's soldiers and several monks stood at a brick wall and were hastily patching it up by adding a new layer of bricks.

"Come on, get back to work!" their commander demanded as the men worked quickly to cover the wall up. Almost as if they were covering up a dreadful secret. Arthur's hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Something here was wrong.

Ignoring the feeble protests of his men, Arthur hurried to the scene and pushed the monks aside as he stared at the stone fixture.

"What is this?" he commanded to know as a monk quickly stood in front of it.

"You cannot go in there. No one goes in there. This place is forbidden."

What on earth could they possibly be hiding.

"Dagonet," Arthur murmured and a moment later his trustful knight was there with his powerful axe, swinging away at the stone.

"What are you doing? Stop this!" Marius demanded as he came forth from his villa, yet no one paid him any mind.

"Arthur," Lancelot scowled from atop his horse, "We have no time."

"Do you not hear the drums?" Galahad inquired. It was true. It had begun slow and steady, but not the faint beating of drums echoes all around, heralding the Saxons immediate arrival.

Yet, Arthur was unyielding in his desire to know what was being hidden.

A moment later, the mighty strides of Dagonet's axe forced the bricks to give way to a simple, wooden door.

"Key," Arthur demanded of the monk but he only shook his head.

"It is locked, from the inside."

Arthur nodded to Dagonet who kicked in the door as it splintered away. He peered down and saw stone stairs leading down into a dark abyss.

It reeked of death and despair.

Without another glance Arthur disappeared into the darkness.


End file.
